


I'll Be Seeing You

by thepsychicclam



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst, Blow Jobs, Epistolary, Era specific homophobia, Families of Choice, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, Happy Ending, Love Letters, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Major Character Death, Reporter Stiles, Rimming, Romance, Soldier Derek, Waiter Stiles, War related death, World War II, war related violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 05:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 81,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepsychicclam/pseuds/thepsychicclam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the summer of 1941, with the country on the brink of war, diner waiter Stiles meets Derek Hale, an army soldier just passing through Beacon Hills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer 1941

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [I'll Be Seeing You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5410736) by [itsdeianeira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsdeianeira/pseuds/itsdeianeira)



> I tried to be as historically accurate as possible, through research and the reading of _a lot_ of letters home from ww2 soldiers, but also took some artistic liberties at times. 
> 
>   [For those of you interested, a short playlist of stuff I listened to while writing.](http://8tracks.com/thepsychicclam/untitled-mix-2/edit)
> 
>  title comes from the old classic _i'll be seeing you_.
> 
> Two beautiful graphics/manips made by the amazing [foreverblue-navy](http://foreverblue-navy.tumblr.com) and [thebootlegsaint](http://thebootlegsaint.tumblr.com).  
> [here](http://thebootlegsaint.tumblr.com/post/59359082847/ill-be-seeing-you-by-thepsychicclam-in-the) and [here](http://foreverblue-navy.tumblr.com/post/58736676076/ill-be-seeing-you-thepsychicclam-in-the-summer)
> 
>  

Finally I will give in, Feel his fingers on my skin  
I will soak him in, then I'll fall apart  
Till we are whispers in the dark  
We are the silences wrapped around our beating hearts

Blue as oceans from the skies are waving longingly goodbye to the seashore  
Now I see the earth is round, nothing like it seems from the ground, flat and dismal  
-blue farewell, melissa mcclelland

*

The summer air was stifling, and Stiles had two oscillating fans going and the front door to the diner propped open. But that didn’t make it any more bearable. If he was honest, it probably just made it worse. The sleeves of his plaid button up were rolled above his elbows, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned. He didn’t care who saw his undershirt; it was hot.

“Order up!” he called through the window, and Scott grabbed the order sheet before turning back to the grills. Lunch rushes were always the worst, and this one was hell. Had he mentioned how hot it was? Because it was hot. Kinda like it was. In Hell.

“Stiles,” Mrs. McCall yelled from the doorway to the back. Stiles glanced over his shoulder. “When the lunch rush dies down, how about starting to change out those chairs with the new ones? Shop dropped them off earlier today; they’re sitting out behind the building.”

Stiles flicked his hand in a fake salute. “You got it, boss. Ten-four.”

She disappeared behind the door as a deep voice said, “You’re doing it wrong.”

“Huh?” Stiles turned on his heel and glanced at the dark-haired man with thick stubble and even thicker shoulders sitting at the end of the counter, staring at a menu. 

“The salute. It’s wrong. And besides, you’re only supposed to salute officers, and never indoors.”

Stiles walked over, scratching his chin. The man continued staring down and didn’t bother to glance up when Stiles stopped in front of him. “O…kay…um, I’m not a soldier.”

“That’s obvious.” 

Stiles raked his eyes over the man, took in his build, the rigid posture of his shoulders. “But you are.”

The man nodded. “Yep.”

“Crap, I didn’t mean to offend you, I was just – “

“You didn’t offend me,” the man cut in. He looked at Stiles fully then, bright hazel eyes unlike anything Stiles had ever seen. It kinda took him off guard, and he wasn’t sure how much he liked them looking through him like they were boring into his soul. It kind of weirded him out. “But I know quite a few soldiers who might be.”

Stiles sighed. “Okay, no more fake salutes.” He pulled out his pad from the back pocket of his pants. “What can I get you?”

“What do you recommend?”

Stiles pursed his lips and angled himself sideways so he could read the menu laid on the counter in front of the man even though he’d had it memorized since he was thirteen. “It’s all good, really. Scott’s a great cook, but personally, I suggest the hamburger or the melt.”

The man looked up with a small smile, which made him look much more handsome and much less like someone who could break Stiles’ neck with his bare hands if he tried. “Hamburger it is then.”

Stiles scribbled it down as the man added fries and a Coca-cola to his order. He nodded and clipped the slip in the window before grabbing a bottle from the ice box. After all his remaining tables had left and the only other person left in the dining room was soldier boy, Stiles did his routine: wipe down tables and counter, refill saltshakers, straighten ketchup and mustard on the tables. 

When he finished, soldier boy was still sitting at the counter, taking his sweet time with that hamburger. Thirty minutes, really? And he’d only eaten like half of it? Stiles really hoped he wasn’t going to be robbed. Maybe this guy was another Bonnie and Clyde or John Dillinger. He might not be well-traveled, but he read the papers and listened to the radio. These things _happened_. They just never happened in Beacon Hills. _Nothing_ happened in Beacon Hills. Beacon Hills was the most boring town in the entire world (or at least Northern California). 

He knew this first hand, mainly because his father never shut up about how bored he got sitting around the sheriff’s station or going out on calls about cows. 

Stiles poked his head through the kitchen door. Scott was scrubbing down the grill. “Hey, gonna go grab those chairs for your mom. There’s some guy out here eating. Just keep an ear out and make sure he doesn’t rob us or something.”

Scott grinned. “Sure thing.”

Stiles walked down the long hall through the diner and to the back door, propping it open with a rock while he carried the chairs back and forth into the dining room four at a time. By the time he set the remaining chairs down, he was burning up and drenched in sweat. He stripped off his plaid shirt even though soldier boy was still there, and poured himself a large glass of water.

Before going to switch out the chairs, Stiles set a new bottle of soda in front of the man, figuring that if he was going to sit at the counter all afternoon, he might as well be well hydrated. Didn’t want any heat-related casualties on his hands. Then, he went about his work.

“Want some help?”

Stiles turned around and found that soldier boy had turned in his chair and was now watching him. Stiles shrugged. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.” The man stood up, easily picked up the chair he’d been sitting in (much more easily than Stiles did), and stacked it on the growing tower of old chairs.

“What? Do you not have something better to do with your Wednesday afternoon other than stack chairs? Not that I’m complaining, because this makes my life so much easier, especially since this might be the hottest day in all of existence, but still. I’m Stiles, by the way.”

“Derek,” the man answered. 

“Well, thanks for the help, Derek.” They worked for a few minutes in silence, and then Stiles asked, “So, you passing through or visiting family?”

Derek hesitated before answering, “Passing through.”

Stiles nodded. “So, you’re really a soldier?”

“Yup.”

“Are you going overseas?” Stiles asked.

Derek shook his head. “Not planning on it. But if the US joins the war, I’ll do what the army tells me.”

“Don’t let my friend Scott learn that you’re a soldier. You’ll never get rid of him. He wants to be a soldier so bad.”

“Then why doesn’t he join up?” Derek slid a new chair under the counter and came back for another.

“He has really bad asthma, but he wants to try after he graduates.” Stiles ran a hand through his hair, and Derek nodded. “I mean, we’re both seventeen and could enlist. He wanted to enlist as soon as he turned seventeen, but his mom wouldn’t let him. I just wanna finish my senior year and hope by the time I turn 21 there won’t be a draft anymore. I mean, I’d love to get out of this town, do something exciting like travel the world and see Paris or London, but the war in Europe seems really bad according to the papers. I don’t want to enlist.”

“It’s not for everyone,” Derek stated.

Stiles placed the final chair at a table and stood back admiring their work. He pulled up his shirt and wiped off his sweaty face, grimacing because the shirt was so soaked it didn’t help much. He was definitely going directly home and showering.

“Not too bad,” Stiles said. “Thanks for the help, Derek.”

“What are you doing with these?” Derek pointed to the two large stacks of old chairs.

“Um…”

“You haven’t thought about that, have you?” Derek smirked and grabbed the first stack. “Where do you want them?”

“Whoa!” Stiles yelled, hands flailing as Derek held like ten chairs. “If you break something, I’m not sure the diner will be able to pay for it.”

Derek sighed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not heavy. Now, where?”

Stiles decided taking like two chairs would be kind of ridiculous when Derek carried ten, so he led the way through the narrow hallway towards the backdoor, making sure nothing was in Derek’s way. After both sets of chairs had been moved outside, Stiles poured two glasses of water. He gulped his down like he’d been the one to carry twenty chairs outside.

“Your meal’s on the house,” Stiles said after he finished his glass. Derek was still sipping his. “For helping me.”

“That’s not necessary.”

Stiles nodded. “Oh, yes it is. You earned it, buddy.” Derek took a final sip of his water and set the glass carefully on the counter. “Thanks, by the way, for the help.”

Derek gave him a clipped nod as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket, and despite Stiles’ protestations, dropped money on the counter. 

“Nice to meet you!” Stiles called as Derek left the diner. When he glanced down, his eyes widened in shock at how much money was on the counter. Derek had left him a tip almost five times what his meal cost.

He was so getting a free meal if he ever came back.

*

Derek woke at 5 a.m. on the dot. He conducted his morning regiment – two hundred pushups, two hundred sit ups, eight mile run. By 7 a.m., he was freshly showered, dressed in civilian clothes, and standing outside the diner. 

The dining room was teeming with life. And right in the middle of it, with explosive energy, was Stiles. He was wearing a white apron over his plaid shirt (blue instead of red like yesterday) and he was carrying around a coffee pot, topping off mugs as he meandered through the crowd. His mouth never stopped moving the entire time he circulated. Derek wondered how the coffee didn’t get cold by the time he finished one sentence.

He contemplated not going into the diner. And he probably wouldn’t have, except the diner was the only place in town to eat. Thinking maybe it was a mistake, Derek opened the door and walked inside. He managed to squeeze in at the counter in the same seat as the day before. He was glancing at the menu when Stiles noticed he was there.

“Derek!” Stiles said cheerfully. He set a mug down in front of Derek and filled it with coffee. “I didn’t expect to see you again. Thought I scared you away with all the hard work yesterday.” Stiles smiled widely, and for some reason, Derek returned the smile.

“You call that hard work?”

Stiles huffed. “Yeah, that’s hard work. Especially after being on my feet all day.” Someone called out Stiles’ name, and he held up one impossibly long finger before running across the diner, returning quickly like a yo-yo. “Sorry about that. It’s a bit crazy around here sometimes. What can I get you?”

“Eggs, toast, and milk.” 

Stiles nodded as he jotted it down on his pad and then went back to work. 

Derek stared at the chipped counter as he waited for his food. He’d been in Beacon Hills for less than twenty four hours. His CO had made him take leave, told him he’d gone too long without taking any, and to get some R&R. He could have gone anywhere, gone to San Francisco or Hollywood or even to Yosemite, but instead he’d come home. Yeah, he had some business he had to take care of, but that would only take a day, and he didn’t have to do that until Monday. 

He just had nowhere else to go.

“Something interesting on that counter?” Stiles’ voice penetrated his thoughts as a plate appeared in his vision. “I’d love to know if there’s something interesting around this place. It’s Dullsville.”

“I heard that,” a woman with dark, curly hair said from down the counter.

Stiles motioned his head her way. “That’s Mrs. McCall, my best friend Scott’s mama. She owns this place. She used to run it with Scott’s dad, but then he died and everyone thought she should sell it, because she’s a woman, you know, but she had no other source of income. Plus, it’s the only diner in town.” Derek nodded, wondering why Stiles was telling him all of this. “I’ve been working here since before I could see over the counter, and will probably work here until I die, unless I decide to become a deputy like my dad. But I don’t think I really want to do that. I don’t think I’d make a very good policeman.” Derek titled his head as he watched the way the boy flailed and moved in jittery little motions. No, he would make a terrible policeman and a terrible solider. Derek wasn’t even sure how he managed to carry around a coffee pot. 

Stiles disappeared for a few moments, and Derek started eating his breakfast. A few minutes passed, and Stiles was opening the icebox behind the counter, right across from where Derek sat. “Cola with breakfast? What happened to orange juice or milk? Some people.” He glanced at Derek’s empty milk glass. “I’ll get you another.” Stiles fluttered off again, and Derek smiled to himself.

It was ten minutes before Stiles returned with a fresh glass of milk. Derek had eaten all his eggs, but hadn’t touched his toast yet. “Sorry, one of my dad’s deputies decided to talk to me, and he wouldn’t shut up!” Derek chuckled at the irony. 

The diner was loud and crowded, usually everything Derek hated. But he’d been alone too much lately. Sitting alone in the hotel just made the loneliness overwhelm him, made the silence ring in his ears. People bumped against his chair as they walked behind him, customers rotated in and out of the chair beside him, bumping his elbow or speaking cordially, and every time Stiles walked to the ice box or kitchen window, he said something random to Derek or offered him a smile. It was everything Derek hated, but there was no place else for him to be.

When Derek tried to pay for breakfast, Stiles refused his money, but when Stiles disappeared to take care of another customer, Derek dropped a stack of bills beside his plate.

*

Derek returned to the diner later, after the dinner crowd. He’d spent the entire day driving around the country outside of Beacon Hills. He tried to relax, to find something to release the knot that had been settled in his chest for the past six months. The knot was still there as he drove back into town.

As he walked by, he glanced in the windows and saw the dark-haired woman behind the counter. He ordered a hamburger to go and ate it in his hotel room.

*

At 5:30 the next morning, Derek walked through the diner door. Stiles was slumped sleepily on the counter, blearily staring at a container of sugar he was supposed to be filling. When he heard the bell on the door jingle, he looked up.

“Derek!” Stiles immediately perked up and rubbed his eyes. “Why are you here so early? Only farmers wake up this early, and I doubt you know how to milk a cow.”

“Soldier,” Derek answered simply, sitting in his usual chair at the counter.

“Ah, yes.” Stiles yawned as he pulled out his pad. “What’ll you have this morning?” Derek ordered the same as the day before and Stiles slid his order through the window. “Still here, then?” Derek nodded. “Here for our lovely tourist attractions?” Stiles gave him a lopsided grin.

“I’m from Beacon Hills,” Derek found himself saying. He looked at Stiles in surprise, whose expression mirrored his own. He wasn’t sure why he told him that, hadn’t intended to tell anyone who he was. “Well, Beacon County, out past town.”

“Really?” Stiles recovered from his surprise and clapped his hands. “That’s great! But I’m pretty sure I’d remember you, and I know pretty much everyone between working here and my dad.”

“I left as soon as I was eighteen,” Derek explained, still half-horrified at his sudden bout of verbal over share. 

“When was that?” Stiles asked. He leaned his hip against the counter, listening like he actually cared. 

“1936.”

“Huh, I was only twelve. Probably why I don’t remember you.” Stiles turned and grabbed the plate that appeared in the window. Instead of setting it down directly, he carried it around the counter and set it in front of Derek as he dropped into the chair beside him, apparently joining him. “Did you join the army then?”

“Um, the National Guard. I’ve been stationed at Camp San Luis Obispo.” At Stiles’ blank face, Derek added, “about halfway down the state.” Stiles opened his mouth and nodded in comprehension.

“Is your family still here?” Derek’s hand froze around the salt shaker as he tried to decide how to answer. Stiles seemed to sense his discomfort because he said quickly, “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.”

“No, it’s okay,” Derek said slowly. “They died in a fire.”

“You’re Derek Hale,” Stiles whispered, almost to himself, as the pieces fell into place. Derek looked at him sharply. “My dad’s the sheriff.” Stiles shrugged. Derek nodded, and after a few beats, Stiles awkwardly got up and went about his morning preparations. Derek ate his eggs in silence, disappointed that he’d ruined their conversation.

*

Stiles wasn’t behind the counter at lunch, so Derek went to the supermarket instead. Later, as the sun was going down, Derek ran ten miles, so by the time he walked past the diner, it was after nine. The open sign was still in the window, and Stiles was behind the counter, moving around erratically. 

Derek entered the diner and was hit with the sound of music and Stiles’ off-key singing. Stiles’ attention turned to him when he heard the bell, and he smiled and reached over to switch off the radio.

“The show’s on the house,” Stiles joked, and the edges of Derek’s mouth quirked. 

“I still think the price is too high.”

Stiles made a face at that. “Do you always make it a habit to run at night? You’ve been running for hours, I think.”

“I usually run in the mornings,” Derek explained as he took his usual seat, “but sometimes I like running as the sun sets.” He suddenly noticed how sweaty he was, his hair wet and shirt completely damp. He really should have gone back to the hotel first, but he’d been solely focused on heading to the diner immediately after his run.

“There are better places to run than through town. But you probably know that, since you’re from here.” Stiles waved his hand around in slight embarrassment.

“You could show me,” Derek suggested. “It’s been a long time. A lot has changed.”

“Nothing has changed,” Stiles laughed bitterly. “This place will never change. In the year 2000, I’ll be almost eighty and still working in this diner, and Beacon Hills will look exactly the same.”

“Why don’t you leave?”

Stiles shrugged. “Why would I leave? My dad’s here, Scott and his mom’s here, and they’re all I have. I have a decent job, and could probably get a number of any other jobs in town if I wanted.” Stiles shrugged again.

“Sounds okay, I guess.”

“Sounds safe,” Stiles said. “I’ll have a decent job, maybe I’ll marry a nice girl I’ll eventually fall in love with, have a few kids, live a moderately happy life. What more could I ask for?”

Derek cocked his head to the side, studying Stiles. “You’re too young to be that jaded.”

“I’m not jaded, Derek. I’m realistic.”

Something in Derek ached for Stiles. Derek had stopped hoping after the fire, had dedicated his life to the army, something he was good at that could give him purpose. But Stiles had no reason to feel that way. 

Derek ordered dinner and Stiles started cleaning. Derek watched him, watched the coiled energy thrumming through Stiles’ limbs, the simple grace with which he sometimes moved, the long line of his back and legs. When Stiles set the plate on the counter between them, he noticed how graceful his fingers were, and when he looked up, he got lost in the color of Stiles’ eyes, the soft curve of his lips.

Derek ate as Stiles rambled to him about the people of Beacon Hills. Derek knew he was interested in men, always had been. He didn’t care what society said; he was who he was. Sure, he’d tried to make it with a woman, with Kate, but that had been a disaster and confirmed what Derek had already known. But he never intended to act on it, to become involved with a man. He was married to the army, would have a long career and retire a general. Or more than likely, he’d die on a battlefield.

But there was something about Stiles. Something Derek couldn’t put a finger on, but in a few short days he had wiggled himself under Derek’s guard, gotten between the cracks. Derek had come to Beacon Hills to help loosen the knot in his chest, and somehow, whenever Derek was with him, Stiles did just that. Stiles’ inane chatter and wide smile made the emptiness not seem so empty anymore.

“Derek?”

Derek snapped from his thoughts and glanced at Stiles, staring at him expectantly. “Huh?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I said there’s this town carnival tomorrow and asked if you’d like to go.”

Derek didn’t hesitate. “I’d love to.”

*

“Allison’s meeting me there,” Scott said, adjusting his shirt for the fifteen zillionth time since they left Stiles’ house. It was a short walk to the fairgrounds, and Scott had been nervously fidgeting the whole way. “I think she’s sweet on me. Is she sweet on me? I’m sweet on her.”

“I know,” Stiles groaned. He’d known Scott was sweet on her since she’d moved to town the year before. “I think she likes you, too.”

“Maybe I’ll walk her home. Should I walk her home?”

“I don’t know, Scott. Maybe? Just see how it goes.” 

When they got to the carnival, it was packed with just about everyone in the entire county. Just inside the fairgrounds, Scott leaned against a building to wait for Allison, and Stiles stood with him, kicking up dust with his feet. 

“Stiles?” 

Stiles looked towards the voice, face breaking into a smile when he saw Derek walking towards him tentatively. He was dressed in a simple navy cotton shirt and jeans. Stiles had really only seen him sitting down, and as he watched Derek approach, he noticed the solid mass of his body, the lean waist in contrast to the broad shoulders, the quiet confidence in his stride.

“Derek!” Stiles turned to Scott, who was looking at him curiously. “Scott, this is Derek. He’s the one who helped me with the chairs the other day.”

“Oh!” Scott extended his hand and shook Derek’s warmly. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Derek stuffed his hands into his jeans pocket and looked around. “I haven’t been to the carnival since I was a kid.”

“I’m sure it’s just as exciting now as it was then,” Stiles joked. 

Allison found them then, and after a round of introductions, Scott went off with her hand in hand, leaving Stiles and Derek alone. 

“Well, what do you want to do first?” Stiles asked, walking down the fairway slowly. 

“What do you usually do?”

“Eat too much, goof off with Scott, ride things until I puke.” Stiles shrugged. “Not sure any of that sounds appealing.”

“Maybe food first?” Derek suggested, and Stiles led the way. “So, why aren’t you here with a girl like Scott?”

Stiles sighed. “Well, that would first require a girl.” He glanced at Derek out of the corner of his eyes, tall, broad, perfectly chiseled jaw, muscles. He was an All-American guy. “A problem I’m sure you’re unfamiliar with.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

Stiles gaped at him in open disbelief. “You don’t have to be modest. Doesn’t hurt my feelings. I’ve accepted that I’m not the sort of guy most girls find appealing.” 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Derek said seriously, his voice quiet and low. The words made something inside Stiles tingle, and it was uncomfortable. He shook it off.

In line at the food booth, Stiles spotted Lydia across the row of picnic tables. He waved awkwardly, and she smiled and waved back. Derek looked between them.

“She’s lovely. Why didn’t you ask her?”

Stiles pointed at Jackson, who’d just joined her. “That’s why. Jackson. He’s like the richest kid in town He’ll be Ivy League after school, Harvard or Yale. I’ve been in love with Lydia since the third grade, but she only has eyes for Jackson.” Stiles sighed and ordered their food at the window. Stiles tried to pay, but Derek beat him to it. “Derek, I have a job, you know. And I’ve been doing really well in tips lately thanks to a particular soldier passing through.”

Stiles could have sworn that Derek’s cheeks flushed a bit pink. 

“Save your money,” Derek said. “I have plenty. Consider it a thank you for being so hospitable to a stranger.”

Stiles grabbed his food and headed for a picnic table. “My momma always used to say she never met a stranger. Dad says I’m just like her.”

“I’d have to say I agree,” Derek said, swinging his long legs over the bench. “Unless I’m just a special circumstance.” This time, it was Stiles’ turn to blush. Derek looked at him oddly before grabbing a French fry from the cardboard container. “Does your mom like that you take after her?”

Stiles stared down at his hamburger. “She, um, she died when I was a kid.”

“I’m sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles smiled up at Derek. It wasn’t often that he met people who didn’t pity him; Scott was the only one who understood. But Derek understood, too, probably more than Stiles. Stiles still had his dad.

*

“Let’s ride the Ferris wheel!” Stiles said, grabbing Derek’s arm and dragging him to stand in line. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” Derek shook his head, and Stiles bounced excitedly on his feet. When they got into the car and moved into the air, Stiles leaned over the side and looked down. “This is so neat!”

“Easily amused, aren’t you?”

Stiles turned towards him and pouted. “I love the Ferris wheel. I used to ride it every year with my mom. I haven’t ridden it since she died.”

“Why this year?” Derek asked. The ride creaked and jerked as it rotated them further up.

Stiles shrugged. “I just thought it’d be fun. You on the Ferris wheel is pretty hilarious. Plus, my friends always ride it with their boyfriends and girlfriends. It’s such a couple-y thing to do.”

Derek lifted his eyebrows. “You’ve never ridden it with a girlfriend?”

“Please. Like a girl would ever let me take her out.”

“Those girls are stupid,” Derek said quietly. Stiles glanced over at him just as the Ferris wheel started turning, sending them through the air in a large revolution. 

“Do you want to hear something stupid?”

“I’m sure it’s not stupid.”

“It is,” Stiles said, pausing for a moment as he and Derek crested over the top of the ride. He could see the entire town. He reached over and hit Derek on the chest and held his hand there as he pointed out. “Look! My mom always said that she could see our house from here.” He held his breath as the Ferris wheel rotated over the top again. “I don’t think she could see it.” Stiles turned to Derek and smiled, then realized his hand was still flat against Derek’s chest. “Oops! Sorry.” He looked back out, embarrassed.

“What were you going to tell me?” Derek asked.

“Oh!” Stiles waved his hand around. “It’s not important really. It’s just that you’re the first friend I’ve had since Scott.”

“Really?” Derek asked.

Stiles blushed and looked at his hand. “That makes me sound so sad. It’s just, everyone tolerates me at school, but they all say, ‘That Stilinski kid is weird.’ They’re right. I’ve never felt like I belonged. I’ve always felt like there was something more out there for me. Do you ever feel like that?”

“All the time,” Derek replied. 

*

 

They rode the Ferris wheel twice, and Derek played a few of the carnival games, knocking down all the milk bottles four times in a row, much to the carnie’s chagrin. 

“Good job!” Stiles said, patting Derek on the shoulder. “That guy was not happy you beat his game. He really didn’t want to give you that.” Stiles pointed to the ridiculously large stuffed teddy bear Derek held. Derek gave it to a little girl who walked by. 

He played the shell game next, and Stiles laughed at him when he lost twice in a row. Derek glared at Stiles, and Stiles laughed even harder. “Sore loser!” Stiles exclaimed, throwing his arm around Derek’s shoulders. “Don’t be so mad! It’s just a game.” The carnie handed Derek his prize, a tiny stuffed wolf. Derek grunted and walked away, Stiles’ arm sliding from his shoulders and down his back.

“Here,” Derek said, handing the wolf to Stiles as they walked away from the booth.

“I don’t want it,” Stiles said, trying to give it back to Derek, but Derek wouldn’t take it. “Come on, what am I going to do with a stuffed wolf?”

Derek shrugged as he laughed. “Put it in the diner.” Stiles grumbled as he shoved the tiny thing into his pocket.

They circled the carnival twice more before deciding to leave. As they exited, Stiles said, “Well, this was fun. Hope you didn’t get too bored.”

“Where are you going?” Derek asked.

Stiles pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Home, which is that way. It’s a quick walk.” But as Stiles stood in front of Derek, he really didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t want to go home, wanted to stay with Derek, talk to him, get to know him. He wasn’t quite sure why.

“You don’t have a car?”

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

“That…doesn’t really surprise me.” Stiles grinned. 

“You want a ride home?”

“Nah,” Stiles said, shaking his head. He didn’t want to impose, and something about being around Derek felt dangerous. 

“Okay.” Derek shrugged and started walking off. “See you.”

Stiles’ mind was yelling at him, screaming for him to turn around and walk home and let that be that. But there was another part of him, a part of him that was bored with tiny Beacon Hills and safe and the same mundane life. Derek was different, Derek was interesting, Derek was…Stiles didn’t quite understand what Derek was, and it terrified him.

“Derek, wait.” Derek spun around, eyes bright. The night was illuminated by bright carnival lights, the sounds of screams and laughter floating from beyond the gates, the smell of grease and livestock heavy in the air. There were people milling around them, but Stiles didn’t notice any of them. “I changed my mind.”

Derek’s face broke into a huge grin, and something in Stiles shifted.

Yeah, this wasn’t safe at all.

*

“Want to come in?” Stiles asked after Derek stopped the car in front of his house. Derek hesitated, and then followed Stiles inside. Stiles stopped just inside the door and looked around self-consciously. “It’s not much, but we like it.” It was a small house that his dad had bought after Stiles’ mom died. It was in a nice neighborhood, two streets away from Scott, and a quick walk from the diner. 

“It’s nice.” Derek walked around the living room, stopped before a picture on the mantle. “Is this your mother?”

Stiles joined him, standing close so he could look at the picture too since Derek’s body took up so much space. “Yeah. Just after they got married.”

“She’s beautiful.” 

Stiles reached out and touched the frame affectionately. “Yeah, she was.”

“You look just like her. You have her eyes.”

The comment caught Stiles off guard. He glanced over at Derek, who wasn’t looking at the picture. He was looking at Stiles, way too close, invading his personal space.

Stiles took a step back and inhaled. His pulse was racing, and he felt flustered and he wasn’t sure why. He stared at Derek, confused and scared. This didn’t make any sense. What he was feeling, the way he felt about Derek, it didn’t make any sense. And it wasn’t right.

“I should go,” Derek finally said. The silence had gotten awkward, and although Derek made towards the door, Stiles didn’t think that was the body language of someone who wanted to leave.

“My dad isn’t going to be home for hours,” Stiles blurted. Derek froze, his back rigid and body completely still. Stiles felt his face burn crimson as panic bubbled in his throat. What had he done? What if Derek beat him unconscious? What if Derek told everyone? Stiles hadn’t said anything aloud, but he was pretty sure the implication was screaming there just underneath the surface.

Finally, Derek turned around to face him, his face carefully blank. 

“I mean,” Stiles stammered, trying to dig himself out of this hole. “If you want to, um, have a drink or eat some ice cream. Really, I don’t know why I said that.”

Derek crossed the room in three quick strides, and Stiles pressed himself against the mantle, cowering in on himself. “Please don’t hurt me,” Stiles begged. “I’m sorry. I – “

“Stiles,” Derek said in a commanding tone. Stiles looked at Derek fearfully, waiting for the blow to come. Derek moved his arm, and Stiles flinched. But Derek’s fist moved past his head, palm flat against the wall by Stiles’ head. Stiles looked at the impressive swell of his bicep and tried not to think about how much strength and force that would put behind his fist. Softer, he asked, “Why do you look so scared?”

That was not the question Stiles expected. He stared at Derek, trying to read his expression, but the man was just looking at him. He was standing extremely close, in Stiles’ space again, and if Stiles concentrated really hard, he could smell Derek’s soap, hear his soft breaths.

“Please don’t hit me.”

“Why would I hit you?” Derek placed his other hand on the wall by Stiles’ head. 

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, his face somehow getting even redder.

“Stiles,” Derek said, leaning even closer, only inches from his face. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” Stiles’ eyes widened in shock, but his body thrummed with excitement. He opened his mouth, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “If you say no, I’ll leave, and you’ll never see me again.”

“No!” Stiles shouted. The disappointment on Derek’s face was palpable, and he dropped his hands and turned away. Something in Stiles ached, and he quickly grabbed Derek’s wrist. Derek looked down at Stiles’ hand on his wrist, then at his face. “I mean, please don’t go. I don’t want you to go.”

Derek pulled Stiles to him, bodies flush, and looked into his face. “Are you sure?” Derek asked. “I want you to think about this seriously. Because – “

“Derek,” Stiles interrupted. Derek raised an eyebrow. “Just kiss me.”

That’s all Derek needed. He clasped the back of Stiles’ head and pressed their mouths together gently. Kissing Derek was nothing like Stiles had imagined kissing would be like. Well, he’d only ever imagined kissing Lydia, and he’d imagined her soft and smelling of roses. Not Derek. Derek was gentle against his mouth, just lightly brushing his lips against Stiles and not trying for anything more. His lips were warm and chapped, and his stubble was rough against his face, Derek’s hands calloused and coarse against his neck and cheek. A faint hint of musk clung to his skin.

When Derek pulled away, Stiles stared at him, speechless. He just kissed someone. Another person someone. A guy someone. That should bother him more than it did. There had always been something Stiles felt was missing, something more he was waiting on, but he figured he’d never find it. Now Derek was standing in front of him, waiting patiently as he just stared at him with a soft look in his beautiful eyes that made Stiles’ knees weak. There was no way that something this wonderful was wrong. “That’s not how I imagined my first kiss,” Stiles said breathlessly. 

“How did you imagine it?” Derek asked, tracing his knuckles down Stiles’ cheek.

“Nothing as good as that.”

Derek leaned forward and dragged his nose against Stiles’ temple. “I didn’t know that was your first kiss. I’m sorry.” He pressed his warm lips against Stiles’ skin, and Stiles wanted to feel them on his mouth again more than he’d ever wanted anything.

“Never apologize,” Stiles said, turning his face, his eyes fluttering shut as Derek’s lips and stubble brushed against his forehead. “I’m glad it was.”

Derek smiled, and Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s back to keep from falling as Derek kissed him again. 

*

Derek tried to tell himself this was a bad idea. Even as his lips were pressed against Stiles’, Stiles’ arms around his waist holding him tightly, he tried to believe this would just end in disaster. That Stiles was just seventeen, didn’t know what he wanted from life, that Derek was just a passing curiosity. Something he might feel ashamed about as he rocked into whatever wife he married years down the road. Derek didn’t like the bad taste that left in his mouth, thinking about Stiles being married, in the arms – and bed – of someone else. Derek knew that was dangerous thinking, thinking he’d never allowed himself to indulge in. But as Stiles’ lips grew more confident, his fingers curling and uncurling against the small of Derek’s back, he didn’t care.

“Couch?” Stiles asked when he pulled away. His eyes were so bright, his cheeks so pink, excited and aroused. Derek nodded, and they pulled apart, but kept their hands on each other as they moved across the living room. But Stiles stepped away, Derek disappointed at the loss of contact, and walked over to the windows and closed the drapes. “Just in case,” Stiles explained as he tugged the last, white linen curtain over the window.

“No, it’s smart,” Derek said, sitting on the couch as he watched Stiles cross the room. Stiles walked with an undeserved self-consciousness. He was skinny, yes, and gangly, but Derek was pretty sure he didn’t realize just how desirable he was. “Do you think anyone saw inside before? I should have been more careful.”

Stiles placed a comforting hand on Derek’s leg as he dropped beside him on the sofa. “We weren’t visible from the window.” Stiles hesitated before tentatively running his hand along Derek’s thigh, then across his shoulder and over his bicep. 

“Are you nervous?” Derek asked tenderly, his hand sliding up Stiles’ arm. 

“A little.”

“Don’t be,” Derek said. “I’ve never done this, kissed a man, before tonight either.”

“Really?” The way Stiles said it sounded like a sigh of relief.

Derek laughed. “I was involved with a woman before, right after I joined the army.”

“Really?” Stiles pulled his legs under him and settled down to listen. Derek grabbed his hand and threaded their fingers, and Stiles looked down at it with a small smile around his lips. “What happened?”

Derek stared at the far wall as he spoke. “I tried to love her, even though I was only interested in men. It was a couple of years after my family died, and I just…I wanted a normal life. I thought getting married, having kids, joining the army would do it. She was a bit crazy. Hated that I was in the army, that I didn’t make more money, and after some bad fights, she left me.” Stiles squeezed his hand, and Derek looked over at him. “Can’t say I was too sad, though. It didn’t feel right marrying a woman, lying to her, for the rest of my life.” Derek reached out and trailed his fingers down Stiles’ neck. “I’ve never told that to anyone before.”

“Why me?” Stiles asked. 

Derek studied Stiles, who looked so vulnerable sitting there beside him. “I don’t know,” Derek admitted. “I just liked you from the moment that you spoke to me.” He reached forward and grabbed Stiles’ shirt, tugging him closer. Stiles crawled into his lap, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck while he kissed him. 

Emboldened by Stiles’ actions, Derek swiped his tongue against Stiles’ lips, and Stiles opened his mouth with a surprised “ah!” Derek grinned against his mouth as he slipped his tongue inside Stiles’ hot mouth, and Derek didn’t hide the moan that escaped from him when he finally made contact with Stiles’ tongue. It was soft and warm, and Derek could feel Stiles’ hesitance as he tried to figure out what to do. Derek tried to encourage him, show him what to do, and Stiles was a quick learner, soon vying for purchase in Derek’s mouth.

After they’d been kissing for awhile, neither of them having moved them their spots, Derek slid his fingers beneath Stiles’ shirt and trailed his fingers up his warm back. Stiles pulled back, his eyes slightly dazed, his lips kiss swollen. Derek wanted to kiss them again and again.

“Is that okay?” Derek asked, pausing his hands as his brow creased in worry. “I can stop.”

“No,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “It’s okay. More than okay. The okayest of the okays.” Stiles toyed with the hem of Derek’s shirt. “Can I?”

“Please,” Derek croaked out. Stiles slid his hands beneath Derek’s shirt, and Derek watched as the emotions and thoughts fluttered over Stiles’ countenance while his long fingers explored Derek’s skin. “You’re so beautiful,” Derek said. 

Stiles halted. “You don’t have to say that,” Stiles said, bashful and obviously uncomfortable with the compliment. 

“I mean it.” Derek cupped Stiles’ cheek, and Stiles leaned into his touch. “You’re wonderful.”

“I think you’re wonderful, too,” Stiles said, his cheeks flushed red. Derek leaned forward, quickly closing the space between their mouths. 

After an hour of kissing and touching, Derek reluctantly said, “I should go.”

“Why?” Stiles whined, kissing along Derek’s neck. 

“Because your dad will be home soon. And if I stay any later, the neighbors will talk, and they might not believe that you were just entertaining a friend.” Derek angled his face so he could catch Stiles’ mouth in another kiss. Five more minutes passed before Derek finally managed to move them both to their feet. At that point, Stiles’ hands were beneath Derek’s shirt, glued to his chest. Derek still hadn’t removed his hands from where they were hidden on Stiles’ sides.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Derek said as he moved to the door. He kissed Stiles again, tongue slipping easily past Stiles’ swollen lips into his mouth. Stiles’ tongue met his enthusiastically, and Derek felt his head spinning. 

“I don’t want you to leave.”

Derek kissed across Stiles’ cheek and then pressed a kiss to his pulse point. “Thank you, for tonight.”

“I should be thanking you,” Stiles laughed. 

Derek brushed the backs of his fingers across Stiles’ pink cheeks. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, pulling him extremely close, and kissed him one final time. 

It took all of Derek’s strength to physically pull himself away from Stiles and walk out of the house. When he got into his car, he chanced a glance at the house and saw Stiles peeking out from between the drapes.

*

Derek couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned. His body was in a state unlike it’d ever been in before. Sure, he’d been turned on, had gotten erections in the past, but this was different. Even when he’d had sex with Kate, it’d taken a lot to get him hard. She’d made fun of him for it, said he was a prude who wanted to wait until they were married, said he wasn’t a man, said something was wrong with him. He’d never told her what the problem really was. She’d done a number on his mind with what she _had_ known, there’s no telling what kind of emotional torture knowing he was attracted to men would have earned him.

But here he was, hours after leaving Stiles, hard and worked up unlike he’d ever been before. No person had ever done this to him. He never dreamt it would happen. He’d had sex, and it was nothing worth writing home about, but after tonight, he’s pretty sure he was going to change his mind. 

Derek touched himself, hard from thinking about Stiles, his fist imaging Stiles in all sorts of inappropriate ways as he came harder than he ever had in his whole life. He didn’t dare think of what it would be like to come with Stiles.

A couple of hours later, Derek stared up at the ceiling, still wide awake. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Stiles wasn’t supposed to happen. Not now. Not ever. 

Derek knew he couldn’t be with Stiles. Those kinds of relationships didn’t work. And with the country on the brink of war… But when he listened to Stiles, when he looked at him with his arms around him, there was hope. Hope that Derek didn’t have before.

No one had ever made Derek’s knees weak the way Stiles had tonight. 

And it scared the hell out of him.

* 

Derek contemplated just leaving town. He could drop back in on Monday and no one would know he’d been there. He went for his morning run, purposefully avoiding the downtown area, and then got the ingredients for breakfast and lunch from the supermarket. He ate them alone in his hotel room, but the loneliness was palpable. It was worse than before. Before, Derek had no one. Derek had accepted his station in life. But now.

Now there was Stiles.

When he knew the dinner rush would be over, Derek found himself standing in the shadows across the street from the diner. He could see Stiles clearly through the large windows, the inside of the diner bright against the black night. 

Stiles looked different. His shoulders were slumped, his face closed and lacking its usual joy. When he spoke to a customer sitting at the counter, he smiled, but Derek could tell even from this distance it didn’t reach his eyes.

Stiles obviously regretted it. Maybe he should leave, after all. Leave Stiles to his safe life in Beacon Hills instead of sticking around to ruin it.

Derek turned his attention as someone entered the diner. Stiles’ head immediately snapped to the customer, and when he looked at them, the disappointment was obvious.

Stiles didn’t regret what happened. Stiles was afraid Derek did.

Less than a minute later, Derek was opening the front door and stepping into the stuffy diner. Stiles glanced over his shoulder idly as he took the man’s order, but when he caught sight of Derek, his entire face lit up. Derek smiled and took his usual seat.

“Hey!” Stiles said giddily when he had time to finally come over. “I thought I wouldn’t see you again. Thought you may have found a better hamburger somewhere else.” He smiled, but Derek could see uncertainty beneath that expression.

“Better than Scott’s? Never!” Derek smiled, feeling better than he’d felt all day.

“One hamburger and a Coca-cola?” Stiles asked, and Derek nodded. After Stiles called the order through the window, he drifted back in front of Derek. “What did you do today?”

“Had to run some errands,” Derek lied. Stiles nodded, believed him. He snapped his fingers suddenly, then spun around to open the door to the ice box. He pulled out Derek’s cola and set it in front of him. Then, Scott pushed a plate through the window, and Stiles grabbed it and headed for the other customer.

When Stiles returned, Derek said quietly, “I almost didn’t come back.” 

Stiles’ face fell. “Oh.”

“It’s not what you think.” 

“Then please, enlighten me.” Stiles crossed his arms, and for the first time since Derek met him, he looked young and angry and hurt. 

Derek glanced around cautiously, though he knew no one was close enough to hear. “I thought you may have regretted it.” Stiles looked at Derek like he was a stupid. “And I was scared.”

Stiles sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Then you’re stupid.” Both of Derek’s eyebrows shot up. “That first thing you said? No. Not possible. Like, the least possible thing that could ever happen. The second thing?” Stiles paused. “I feel the same way, but I don’t care.”

“Really?”

Another plate appeared through the window, and Stiles spun around to grab it before setting it down in front of Derek.

“Really.”

*

Stiles didn’t know what he was doing. Stiles never knew what he was doing, but now he _really_ didn’t know what he was doing. He’d spent half the night excited and thinking about Derek, then he’d gotten scared and nervous. But then he realized that he’d never felt the way he did when he was with Derek, with or without the kissing. Derek made him feel something he’d never felt before, and that was enough for Stiles.

When Derek hadn’t show up for breakfast, and then lunch, Stiles started to get worried. He didn’t know what to expect, really. Derek was a soldier passing through town; it’s not like they had some grand future together. But he really hoped he’d get to see him at least once more.

Then he showed up in the diner, and Stiles knew he’d fallen hard for soldier boy. And he was okay with that.

*

Derek spent his free time on Saturday at the diner with Stiles. Not that Stiles minded, of course. He quite enjoyed the company. The diner was always bustling, and hot; it was still _so_ stifling hot. One of the oscillating fans started making an ominous squeaking sound as it worked, and then died. 

“It’s three times as hot now,” Stiles had complained, peeling off his damp button up and fanning himself with a menu. 

Derek, seated at his usual spot, had rolled his eyes and replied, “No, it’s the same temperature.”

“It’s ridiculously hot. I’m melting. _Melting,_ Derek, like the Wicked Witch of the West in _The Wizard of Oz_. Have you seen that movie? It’s great. Most of it’s in color!”

Derek had fixed the fan for him, back in Mrs. McCall’s office, and Stiles had missed him so much he kept running back there to check on the fan’s progress. After the sixth time Stiles had popped in the doorway, Derek got up and kissed him, and then told him to not come back until he was finished. Stiles stayed away for an impressive ten minutes before he just had to see Derek again.

 

After Stiles’ shift, they saw back to back films at the theater in town. They sat in the back and shared popcorn and made fun of the ridiculous plots, and even had a few people shush them. Stiles’ dad was at work that evening, so Derek came back to the house with him.

They were stretched out on their sides on Stiles’ couch, arms wrapped around one another, when Derek asked, “Are you working Monday?” 

Stiles propped himself up on his elbow and glanced down into Derek’s face with interest. “Yeah, but I can probably ask Mrs. McCall for the day off. Why?”

“There’s something I have to do, and I’d like you to come with me.” 

“I’d love to,” Stiles answered, and Derek looked so pleased that Stiles had to lean down and kiss him before he said something stupid.

*

Monday morning, Derek picked Stiles up at 9:30 a.m. He’d told him to dress nicely, so Stiles had put on the only suit he owned. It was black and hot and didn’t breathe, but it would have to do. 

When he saw Derek coming up the walk, he didn’t expect him to look like he did. Derek wore his dress greens, perfectly tailored and close fitting. Stiles kind of gaped at him.

“You look…amazing,” Stiles said, resisting the urge to close the distance between them and kiss him. “I didn’t expect you to look like…”

“A soldier?” Derek smiled a half-smile as Stiles nodded. 

Derek wouldn’t tell him where they were going, and Stiles didn’t ask. He figured Derek had his reasons, and he was just happy he asked him to come along.

Stiles was surprised when Derek pulled the car into the parking lot of the county cemetery. Derek got out of the car wordlessly and pulled on his uniform hat, and Stiles followed him past the rows of headstones. Derek’s back was rigid, his shoulders painfully straight, as he marched forward.

They stopped beside a long line of gravestones. A man in a similar uniform, but with more medals and stripes than Derek’s, was waiting for them holding something.

“Corporal Hale?” Derek saluted his superior, and the officer returned the salute. “On behalf of the United States Army, we give you our condolences.” Derek nodded, and then he took the triangular-folded American flag the officer offered him. After another salute, the man walked away.

Stiles was so busy watching the exchange that he didn’t look down at the gravestone they were standing at. He let out a soft gasp when he saw the inscription.

_Laura Hale, 1916-1941_

“They laid my sister’s gravestone today,” Derek explained, his voice thin and rough. “This is why I came back to Beacon Hills. To lay my sister to rest with the rest of my family.” Starting beside Laura’s stone, there was a line of gravestones. Twelve to be exact. Most with the name Hale. 

“They all died in the fire,” Derek explained. “Except my uncle Peter. He died a few years later, in an asylum. He survived the fire, but it drove him insane.”

Stiles wanted to say something, wanted to reach out and comfort him, but he didn’t know what to do, so he just stood there.

“I joined the army because of Laura. She always told me she thought I’d be a good soldier. She wanted to be in the military so bad, thought it was so unfair that women could vote but not serve their country, and then the war happened. She went overseas last year, as a military nurse. Six months ago,” Derek’s voice broke, and he paused. Stiles didn’t care who saw; he reached out and took Derek’s hand. Derek threaded their fingers, and Stiles squeezed his hand. “Six months ago a bomb hit a hospital in Britain. They couldn’t identify the bodies they were burned so badly.”

“Derek, I’m so sorry,” Stiles whispered, his chest constricting as he realized that the stone was a memorial plaque only. Derek would never be able to properly bury his sister.

They stood like that for a long time, long enough that by the time they were back in the car, Stiles’ jacket, shirt, and pants were soaked with sweat. Derek didn’t say another word as they stood there; he just stared at the gravestone.

In the car, Derek sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the steering wheel, before he said, “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t want to bury my sister alone.”

They drove back into town, back to Derek’s hotel. Derek had never invited him there before, and Stiles looked around the small room, taking note of the small, military-issue duffle bag, the neatly arranged toiletries on the sink, the freshly made bed. 

Indifferent to Stiles’ presence, Derek stripped out of his uniform and hung it up carefully while standing in his underwear. He reached into his duffle bag and pulled out a fresh pair, and then disappeared into the bathroom. 

Unsure what to do, Stiles removed his sweaty suit. He was sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed in his underwear when Derek came out of the bathroom. Without a word, Derek crawled onto the bed, stretching out on his stomach. Stiles watched him, and when Derek was settled, he looked at Stiles from behind dark lashes. His eyes were full of unspoken sorrow and grief, and Stiles settled beside him, his head on a pillow.

Derek latched onto him immediately, arms going around Stiles’ small frame, his face pressed against Stiles’ skin. He wrapped his arms around Derek’s body and ran his fingers soothingly across his back, his shoulders, up and down his arms. Derek’s shoulders shook, and Stiles didn’t say anything as Derek sobbed silently against his chest.

*

Stiles woke up disoriented. He blinked groggily and sat up, glancing around the dim room, unsure of where he was. Sparse light was filtering in from around the dark curtains blocking the window, and the hotel room started to come into focus. He felt a body move beside him and heard a low grunt. On his left, Derek was lying on his stomach, head buried in the pillow. Stiles made to leave the bed, but Derek stirred and pushed himself up on his elbows, looking just as disoriented as Stiles felt.

“What time is it?” Derek asked, dropping back onto the bed. 

Stiles fumbled blindly on the table beside him, finally grabbing Derek’s watch. “Five.” Stiles rubbed his face with one hand as he set Derek’s watch back on the nightstand. They’d gotten back to the hotel room after noon, and they’d lain in bed for awhile after that, and Stiles hadn’t even realized he had fallen asleep until he woke up.

Derek extended an arm and draped it over Stiles’ stomach, his fingers brushing lightly over Stiles’ bare skin. The touch sent shivers down Stiles’ spine, and he closed his eyes and focused on the feel of those callused fingertips on his lower belly.

Until his stomach growled. The sound was loud in the quiet room, and Derek opened one eye, quirking his eyebrow.

“I’ve only had breakfast. I’m starving.”

Derek rolled to his side and yawned. Stiles was mesmerized with how he looked, face sleepy, hair pressed messily against his head, sheets pooled around his waist leaving his bare chest visible. Stiles turned his eyes away in embarrassment, trying not to stare.

“What?” Stiles stared intently at the ceiling. “Hey,” Derek slid his hand up Stiles’ bare chest before cupping Stiles’ cheek and gently tugging his face to the side so he could look at him. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Stiles’ eyes drifted down to Derek’s well-defined chest, and Derek let out a soft “oh.”

“I’ve never…” Stiles waved his hand towards Derek’s chest. “Except Scott, but that was different. We’ve been swimming in the lake and the river and stuff, and I never really _looked_ and now it just feels kinda weird because I _want_ to look, I mean, I’ve had my hands on your chest, but you were still wearing your shirt, and god, you were wearing your _pants_ , and now neither one of us are wearing our pants, and I’m wearing my underwear, and – “

“Stiles!” Derek cut in gently. Stiles stopped talking, nearly out of breath. Derek was propped on his elbow, and he looked down at Stiles with a slightly pained look on his face. “I’m sorry. This should never have happened. I should never have brought you here, put you in this situation – “

“Derek,” Stiles tried as he sat up.

“Stiles, please, let me finish.” Stiles dropped back against the headboard and mimed locking his lips, and Derek smiled sadly. “We’ve known each other for less than a week. It’s extremely inappropriate for us to be lying in our underwear in bed, especially when you’re seventeen – “

“Derek!” Stiles shouted. “I don’t care. I don’t care that I’ve known you for a less than a week or that you’re older and I’m only seventeen or that you’re a guy. I like you. I like the way you make me feel, and the way I feel when I’m around you.”

Derek sighed as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and Stiles wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold him. “I feel the same way.”

Stiles waited, but Derek just kept staring down at the sheets. “Then what’s the problem?”

Derek lifted his eyes, and Stiles was shocked at how sad they looked. “I’m leaving for training at Fort Ord tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Stiles felt like someone had punched him in the gut, and he tried not to let it show. “Well, I figured you had to go back sometime.”

“Stay with me tonight,” Derek said, his voice quiet. Stiles couldn’t believe what he just heard. “I want to listen to the radio with you, and talk to you, and if you’ll let me, hold you and kiss you for the few hours we have left.”

“Yes,” Stiles said, voice thick in his throat. “Yes, to all of that.”

*

While Stiles went into town to check in with his dad and pick up dinner, Derek packed. There wasn’t much to pack. All the clothes he’d worn he’d bought on his way to up to Beacon Hills, his own personal effects not much more than fatigues and a uniform. He had no personal items, and was going to put Laura’s flag in a safety deposit box at the bank on his way to the train station in the morning. After he checked and rechecked his bag, he went for an evening run. The air was still thick and hot even after six, but he knew training at Fort Ord would be worse than this, and he couldn’t afford to get soft.

His body was rife with emotions. Being at Laura’s grave earlier somehow made it finally feel real in a way it hadn’t yet. He would never see his sister again. As he ran, he wondered how he would have gotten through all of that without Stiles. Stiles had been so caring and didn’t press, just let Derek do what he needed to do, even when that was cry. At first, Derek had felt embarrassed that he showed so much weakness in front of another person, but when Stiles held on to him, he just clung tighter. At one point, Derek was pretty sure that he heard Stiles sniffling above him. Kate would never have done that for him. Kate would have made him feel weak; Stiles was strong for Derek when he couldn’t be.

After his ten miles, he returned to the hotel room, a little surprised that Stiles hadn’t returned yet. He took a quick shower, and when he stepped out of the bathroom with a towel slung around his waist, he found Stiles sitting on the bed.

“Hi,” Stiles said with a small smile.

“Hi.” Derek grabbed his underwear and undershirt. “Just let me – “

“You don’t have to put on a shirt,” Stiles blurted, his cheeks burning furiously. “I mean, unless you want to.”

Derek laughed, felt his own face blush. “Okay.” He left the undershirt on top of his duffle bag as he walked back into the bathroom. “Though I think it’s unfair that you’re the only one benefitting from this,” he joked as he finished toweling off and pulled on his underwear.

Back in the room, Stiles had stripped down into his underwear. Derek noticed that they were different from earlier, which meant he must have gone home, changed, and probably taken a shower. Stiles stood self-consciously by the bed, his hands in fists by his side. “I just thought, since you would be shirtless, I should be, too.”

Derek crossed over to him and easily slid his arms around Stiles’ thin waist. “I think that’s a great idea.” Derek kissed him lightly. “Now where is dinner? I’m starving.”

They ate dinner stretched out on the bed, lying on their sides propped on their elbows. “I’m working the lunch and dinner shifts tomorrow,” Stiles explained, “which means I don’t have to be in until late.”

“What did you tell your father? I don’t want to get arrested for kidnapping and sodomy.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I told him I was going to be at Scott’s until late. Between goofing off with Scott and working late, I come in at all sorts of hours. He doesn’t really keep track.”

Derek looked at him seriously. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Stiles smiled a nervous, embarrassed smile. “I’m yours all night.”

Derek tried to focus on that, and not how much harder it was going to be to leave as soon as the sun came up.

*

Stiles’ body was warm under his, and responsive. A flutter of fingertips across Stiles’ belly made him laugh, a scrape of stubble against Stiles’ cheek made him sigh, a kiss on Stiles’ mouth made him smile, a brush of lips on Stiles’ neck made him gasp, and a bite of teeth into Stiles’ shoulder made him moan. Derek mapped Stiles’ body with his mouth, kissing from mole to mole like he was connecting the dots, tracing abstract patterns into his pale skin. Stiles’ hands never left Derek’s body, in his hair, on his shoulders, gripping his arms, sliding up his chest or scraping down his back. Derek loved listening to Stiles’ constant stream of noises and rambling commentary.

“Your stubble kinda tickles…or wait, no now your fingers tickle, stop it Derek, please, I can’t…I never thought the inside of my elbow would be sensitive…or my armpit, that’s just weird, Derek, I can’t believe your nose is there, no, I don’t mind actually, it’s just weird…I can’t believe I’m not the only one who wanted to lick someone’s nipple, it feels so good, can I do it to you, too?”

Derek laughed and rolled onto his back, pulling Stiles with him. “You can do what you want,” he said against his mouth, and Stiles grinned before heading straight for Derek’s nipple. Stiles stared at it for a minute, and Derek watched him in amusement as he studied it, turning his head one way and then another, before tentatively swiping his tongue over the tight bud. Derek didn’t stop the satisfied sigh that passed his lips, and Stiles licked it again, more fully. Derek wrapped his hand around Stiles’ head, fingers threading in his hair, as Stiles licked attentively at his nipple, biting in teasing little nips. Derek had already grown half-hard from kissing his way over Stiles’ body, but with Stiles teasing and touching him now, his cock was hardening significantly.

He told himself to breathe. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Stiles away, and Derek didn’t care what they did as long as Stiles was with him.

Stiles kissed him all over – his face, neck, chest and shoulders and torso, then his back. Stiles stretched himself on top of Derek’s back, dragging his toes over the swell of Derek’s calf as his finger idly traced the tattoo between Derek’s shoulder blades.

“What’s it mean?” Stiles asked before placing a kiss in the center.

“It’s a triskelion. It’s a family symbol.”

“It’s beautiful.” Stiles traced the outline of the curves with his tongue before dragging his tongue up to Derek’s neck. He placed small bites along the chords in Derek’s neck, and Derek moaned softly into the pillow. He felt Stiles’ erection pressing tantalizingly against his ass, and he tried not to focus on the small, probably unconscious, little hip rolls that Stiles was making against him. 

Stiles licked, kissed, and nibbled his way back to Derek’s tattoo. He was kissing the outline when suddenly he made a strangled sound in his throat and rolled quickly off Derek’s back. Derek sat up sharply, immediately worried. Stiles was curled into a ball, back to Derek.

“What? Stiles, what’s wrong?” He placed a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, but he flinched away.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said pathetically. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?”

Stiles finally glanced over his shoulder, face as red as a tomato. “I, um…” Stiles moved his hand around, and since his body was still away from Derek, he couldn’t figure out what he was trying to communicate. But when he took notice of where Stiles’ hand was pointing, it clicked.

“Oh!” Derek suppressed a smile. 

Stiles turned away again, hiding his face in a pillow. “This is so humiliating.”

“Why?” Derek wrapped himself around Stiles’ back, placing kisses all along his arm, shoulder, neck, and cheek. “It’s happened before, right? After you’ve woken up or when you did it to yourself?”

Stiles shifted his body just enough so he could look at Derek, his face curious. “You mean, I’m not the only one who does that?”

“What? Touch yourself?” Stiles nodded, and Derek laughed. “God, no. Every guy I know does it. I’ve been in the army for quite a while, and it’s difficult to hide that kind of thing.”

“I thought it was wrong, that I was weird, but I do it a lot, sometimes multiple times a day, and – “

“No, Stiles,” Derek said, cutting him off with a kiss. “There’s not one thing in the world wrong with you.”

Stiles smiled in relief. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t make this weird or upset you – oh!” Stiles stopped talking when Derek rocked his hips, and his painfully hard cock, against Stiles’ ass. 

“You didn’t upset me at all,” Derek whispered against his ear. “I just wish you would have told me so I could have helped.”

“Oh!” Stiles exclaimed in surprise, Derek rocking in slow thrusts against him. “You want…to touch me?”

Derek growled against Stiles’ neck, kissing and nuzzling the soft skin there. “I’ve been touching you all night,” Derek said with a more forceful thrust of his hips. “What makes you think I wouldn’t want to touch your cock, too?”

“Oh,” Stiles said again, this time more breathless. Derek glanced over Stiles’ shoulder and saw he was half-hard again. 

“Stiles,” Derek said, cupping Stiles through his wet underwear. “I think you like the sound of that? Or is it the feel of me against you?”

“Both!” Stiles exclaimed, and Derek laughed quietly against his neck. “I…I don’t know what’s happening. I’ve never been this excited before.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Derek shifted them until Stiles was under him, the sheets resting lightly over their legs. He rocked his hips against Stiles, watched in fascination as Stiles’ eyes fluttered shut. Derek moved his hips again, and Stiles instinctively grabbed Derek’s ass, digging his fingers into Derek’s flesh and almost making him come. “I have a confession,” Derek said, pausing as he tried to calm down. Stiles was hard beneath him, but he wanted to make this last, wanted to make it good for Stiles. “I’ve never been this excited before either.”

“Really?” Stiles’s eyes were wide and full of interest and desire and something else Derek didn’t dare think about. “Have you had sex before? When you had the girlfriend?”

“Yes,” Derek answered. “And with a random woman one of the officers set me up with.”

“Was it like this? Or was it better?”

Derek leaned down and kissed Stiles deeply, his tongue trying to discover every secret place in Stiles’ map. “It was nothing like this,” Derek said with a roll of his hips. “No one has ever done what you’ve done to me, Stiles.” Derek kissed him again. He grabbed Stiles’ wrist, pinning his arm above his head and threading their fingers. Stiles squeezed his hand as they rocked against each other, foreheads pressed together as they panted against each other’s mouths. 

Everything dissolved around Derek as pleasure overcame him, and he moaned Stiles’ name as he came, gripping Stiles’ hand as his hips thrust against him quickly. When Derek finally opened his eyes, dazed and feeling sated in a way he’d never felt before, he found Stiles watching him in open awe. Derek kissed him and shifted his body enough so that he could slip his hand inside the band of Stiles’ underwear.

Stiles made a gargled sound in his throat when Derek wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ cock, and Derek stared in wonder at the flush spreading across Stiles’ cheeks and down his neck and chest. Stiles had pulled his lip between his teeth and was biting down on it as his hips pushed into Derek’s grip. Derek couldn’t believe that he was touching another man’s cock, and more importantly, he was touching Stiles’ cock. He tried to memorize the feel of it in his hand – how hot it was, the length and width, the ridge around the head. Derek stroked Stiles a few more times and then Stiles arched up, moaning loudly as he came hot and wet over Derek’s hand. Derek almost came again, surrounded completely by Stiles.

Stiles fell back to the bed, his breath heavy. 

“I,” Stiles started. “I don’t know what just happened.” His eyes popped open, and Derek thought he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, all bright eyes and pink cheeks and full lips, his softening cock still in Derek’s fist. “That was…I’m incoherent.”

Derek smiled. 

*

Stiles had never felt this way before, never believed it was possible to feel this happy and alive. No one had ever told him that something like this existed – complete and utter bliss. Because that’s the only word he could think of to describe how good he felt. Sure, he knew his father had loved his mother, and that Scott was sweet on Allison, but no one ever talked about this feeling. The feeling of lying in someone’s arms and being content just to hear them breathing in your ear. The joy that came from hearing another person laugh, seeing the way it made their eyes crinkle. And when his dad told him about the birds and the bees, he had never talked about how it made you breathless, made sounds you didn’t know were possible come out of your mouth, made you tremble afterwards.

Stiles laughed suddenly, and Derek’s eyebrows knitted in question from where he was leaning over him, watching him as he traced the edges of Stiles’ face with his fingertips.

“What’s so funny?”

“I was just thinking,” Stiles said between laughs, “about how a few weeks ago, Scott told me he kissed Allison when they went walking in the woods. He told me she let him use his tongue and touch her knee.” Stiles broke out into a fresh wave of laughter, and Derek stared at him in amusement. “I was so jealous, and Scott had talked about it like it was the most erotic thing in the world.” Stiles ran a hand over Derek’s chest. “I think I have him beat.”

Derek smiled. “Perhaps.”

“I mean, I can’t imagine him, or anyone, having the kind of sex we just did.” Stiles let his fingers idle over Derek’s nipples as he remembered the feel of them under his tongue.

Derek leaned down and said against Stiles’ mouth, “What we did was just the preview. There’s so much more we can do.” He kissed Stiles, but Stiles was distracted. He pushed Derek away.

“Whoa. What?”

Derek pressed a kiss to his lips as he trailed fingers across his hips. “Be creative, Stiles. Maybe one day we’ll do them all together.” Derek kissed him hard then, and Stiles’ mind raced through all sorts of scenarios he couldn’t actually imagine happening. The images were too exciting and too scandalous to even hope for.

“But,” Derek said when he pulled away. “Scott and Allison can have amazing sex, too. You think this is more exciting because it’s forbidden and secret.” Stiles nodded. “That’s not what makes it great. What makes it great is the two people doing it. And sometimes, forbidden and secret ends very badly.” Stiles didn’t like the way that made Derek’s brow furrow, and he trailed a hand over Derek’s fuzzy eyebrows, trying to physically smooth them. Then, Stiles moved his hand over Derek’s cheek, liked the way his stubble rubbed against his palm. Derek leaned down and covered Stiles’ mouth, kissing him intensely. When they broke, Stiles was breathless again.

“Why didn’t you take it slow with me?” Stiles asked. His hands fluttered over Derek’s shoulders and his chest. He couldn’t take his hands off Derek’s body, didn’t want to waste a moment not touching him.

“What? Take you for a walk and try to cop a feel of your knee?” Derek smirked as he slid his hand beneath the sheets and tickled Stiles’ knee. Stiles howled in laughter as Derek’s fingers slid against it in feather touches. Derek laughed as he pinned Stiles to the bed, and Stiles tried to thrash as Derek kept tickling him. 

Finally, Derek let go and Stiles sat up, trying to catch his breath. “Jerk,” Stiles said. “I was being serious.”

“I didn’t see the point,” Derek admitted. “I was only in town for a week, and the odds were so low that you would be interested. Then when you were,” Derek shrugged. “Why wait?”

“Weren’t you worried about my virtue?” Stiles teased.

Derek lifted on eyebrow. “I think you threw that out the window the moment you kissed me.”

“I’m okay with that,” Stiles said, crawling into Derek’s lap and wrapping his arms around his neck.

*

Stiles watched from the edge of the bed as Derek got dressed. They hadn’t slept at all, had stayed up all night talking and kissing. Now, Derek was dressed in his fatigues and was currently lacing up his boots.

“How long are you going to be training?” Stiles asked. 

“A couple of months.” Derek tied one lace and moved on to the next.

“What are you going to be doing?”

Derek shrugged. “Artillery drills, basic war scenarios, stuff like that.” He finished his shoelace and stood up. Derek looked different. Maybe it was the different posture with which he held himself, the crisp, clean uniform, the flat hair, or his clean shaven face.

Stiles stood up and ran his hand against Derek’s smooth cheek. “I miss it already.”

“I miss you already,” Derek said, pulling Stiles into his arms and kissing him. When they parted, Derek stared at Stiles for a few minutes, trying to get the courage to say something, so Stiles waited patiently. “Would you write to me?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Of course, you big idiot. If you left without leaving me your address, I’d have kicked your ass, even if you could probably kill me with your bare hands.”

They kissed for awhile longer, until Derek had to leave. “Be careful,” Stiles said, unable to let go of Derek’s shirt just yet. 

Derek didn’t say anything. He just cupped Stiles’ cheek and looked at him like he wanted to memorize his face. No one had ever looked at Stiles like that before, and it made Derek leaving hurt even more.

“I’ll write,” Stiles said. “Every day. Even if I have nothing to say. You know me, I can always find something to say. It’s you I’ll have to worry about. You have to find something to write me about, even if it’s just how bad the food is.” Stiles laughed, though it was forced.

“I promise, I’ll write you.” Derek kissed him one final time. Stiles held him close, arms wrapped around his chest and back, clinging tightly to his warm body. He tried to tell himself this wasn’t the last time he’d see Derek, that it wasn’t the last time he’d kiss him, wasn’t the last time he’d feel his lips and tongue against his own.

When they broke apart, Derek stepped back and picked up his duffle bag. Stiles led the way out of the hotel room, glancing around to make sure no one was around to see the sheriff’s son emerging from a drifting soldier’s hotel room. They stood a few feet apart, just staring at each other, neither one of them prepared to move. 

Stiles made the first move. He waved at Derek and said over a lump in his throat, “Goodbye, soldier boy.”

“Goodbye, Stiles.” 

With that, Derek hefted his duffle bag over his shoulder and walked to his car, and Stiles hurried in the opposite direction.

*

Stiles worked the lunch and dinner rushes in a daze. His chest felt hollow, his body like lead. He’d dozed a bit when he’d gotten home, but he was too upset, his mind still reeling from the night, still reeling from Derek, to let him rest. After he’d messed up a few orders, Scott pulled him aside.

“What’s wrong? You’re not yourself, and you look like hell.”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Stiles smiled, but the action physically hurt his face.

Sometime after nine p.m., Stiles had his back to the door when he heard the bell tingle. Hope shot up in his chest as he spun around, but his heart broke a little more when he saw a stranger instead of Derek walking across the threshold. Stiles glanced at the empty chair, aching inside. 

It wasn’t until that moment that he realized Derek was truly gone.


	2. Letters: June-October 1941

_June 16th, 1941  
Fort Ord_

_S—,_

_I started missing you the moment you walked away from me. I hope the past day has been easier for you than it has been for me._

_I should have never come back to the diner after that first lunch. I blame Scott’s hamburger. But I’m glad that I met you. And I’m glad that I have someone to write to. Training won’t seem so lonely when I’m waiting for your letters._

_I arrived at Fort Ord yesterday. I’m settled in and have my schedule. Training will be extremely difficult, but I welcome the challenge. The Colonel said that they predict the US will officially join the war within the next year, which means we have to prepare in case we ship out._

_I’m sorry this is so short. I’m expected at the artillery range, so I must go._

_I hope you’re well,_  
Derek  
  
*

**June 25th, 1941**

**Derek,**

**I realized you really weren’t coming back when you didn’t show up all sweaty after one of your ridiculously long runs for a late supper. Your empty chair made me so sad I moved it. I decided if you can’t sit there, no one can.**

**I miss you. And I’m glad I met you, too. You should have seen the little dance I did when I opened the mailbox and saw a letter from you so soon. My dad asked me who I was writing to. I told him about you (well, part of it). I told him you were a solider I met at the diner who I became friends with. When I told him who you were, he said he remembered your family (crap…I hope it doesn’t make you sad or mad that I mention them…). He said it was nice of me to write you letters.**

**The diner has been hotter than usual. The fan quit again, and this time no one was around to fix it. I started to melt again (yes, I literally had skin melting off of me – don’t laugh at me! It’s true!)**

**I don’t know what you can tell me about training, but I’d love to hear anything.**

**Be safe,  
S  
**  
*

_July 5th, 1941_

_S—_

_I cannot give you specifics, but know that training is going well. I learned how to operate three new guns they use on the battlefield this week. So, is that another way I know how to kill you?_

_Last night, we had an Independence Day celebration on base. Some of the guys made bar-b-que, which was amazing. I wish you could have eaten some. I don’t know – do you even like bar-b-que? As I sit here, I realize I don’t know much about you. It’s like we’re two strangers exchanging letters._

_Maybe that’s all that we are._

_Longfellow wrote:  
_ Ships that pass in the night, and speak each other in passing, Only a signal shown and a distant voice in the darkness; So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another, Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence. __

_Maybe we’ve been foolish, Stiles. Maybe we’re holding on to nothing but a few hours pleasure._

_Derek_  
*

**July 20th, 1941**

**Derek,**

**I’m sorry I delayed so long in returning your letter. Honestly, I didn’t know how to respond. I read and reread your letter a dozen times, and each time it hurt a little more.**

**I think we’re only ships in the night if we allow ourselves to be.**

**And I’m not a damn ship. I’m a stranger who likes you too much and wants to get to know you. I got to know enough during our short time together that I know I want to know more.**

**How could you even send me that last letter you sent? Were you drunk? Because that’s the only logical explanation.**

**S  
**  
*

_July 29th, 1941_

_S—_

_It kills me that I hurt you, even if my letter was the truth. I was not drunk, but I laughed when I read that. I could hear you saying that, could see your face. It made me miss you even more._

_I am afraid to get too attached to you. One day, you will tire of your infatuation with the drifting soldier you met one summer day, and you will move on to someone new and completely deserving of someone as wonderful as you. And I will be left where I was again. It’s not fair for me to hope that you will be waiting for me when I return to Beacon Hills – whenever that will be._

_My life is an open book to you. I will tell you anything you want, as I cannot give you many specifics of what I am doing. And know that I want to know everything about you too, from your first memory to your favorite flavor of ice cream to your deepest fears._

_How has work been? How are Scott and Allison? What did you do on July 4th? Tell me about your life, Stiles. Since apparently I won’t be getting rid of you any time soon._

_Derek_  
  
*

**August 6th, 1941**

**Derek,**

**I think you highly underestimate how attached I am to you already. You say you’re afraid to get attached; I’m terrified because I’m already too attached. What if you meet a nurse (or someone else) and fall in love with them? You could move on, too, Derek. That is more likely to happen than the reverse.**

**You said you could see my face? Your last line echoed of you more than anything that I’ve read so far. That sounded like my Derek. I could see the smirk around your lips. Are you still clean shaven? Don’t tell me – I’ll pretend you aren’t and your stubble is scraping against my cheek or I’m feeling it rough under my hands.**

**My first memory is of my father carrying me on his shoulders into the general store. He says he still remembers that day, but I think he just wants to remember. I also remember being that young and my mother holding my hand as we walked through town. I can still see her clearly, even though many of my memories of her are fuzzy.**

**My favorite flavor of ice cream is strawberry (Mrs. McCall makes the best homemade! I wish you could try it someday). I do like bar-b-que, by the way. We also had ribs on the fourth.**

**I’ll save my deepest fear for a subsequent letter. I feel we should save some of the more important revelations until later. Do you agree?**

**Work has been the same. Mrs. McCall bought a new fan, so it’s been bearable, but just. The July heat was horrible. Scott and Allison are inseparable. They’ve fallen in love, and if it continues like this, Scott will probably ask her to marry him after we graduate. Speaking of which, I start my senior year in a month. It takes too long for these letters to travel to each other. It’s been two months since I’ve seen you. Maybe I’ll start writing you a letter every day.**

**Other than eating, I tagged along with Scott and Allison to the town fireworks show on the 4th. Lydia and Jackson were there. I just didn’t look at them the same. I think I’ve moved on (I think you had something to do with that). The fireworks were really spectacular this year. Allison and Scott held hands and cuddled while they watched, and it made me miss you. I wish we could have watched them together. I would have enjoyed them so much more if your arms were around me.**

**I miss you.  
S  
**  
*

_August 15th, 1941_

_S—_

_You don’t know hot until you’ve been here. The last few weeks have been difficult, and I can’t tell you how much better I felt after I read your letter._

_Your Derek? I think I like the sound of that. And I will always tell you I’m not clean shaven if it keeps that image in your mind. I wish I could come up with something to write back, but I’m afraid everything that pops into my mind won’t make it through the censors. Though, that should give you a few ideas. If not, I will leave you with a list next time we meet._

_My first memory is of my mother cooking. And of running around our property with my father. I came from a big family, two older siblings, two younger siblings, and my uncle, his wife, their three kids, and my other aunt all lived in the same house. You would have fit right in, probably more than me. The memories of them are a bit fuzzy, too. It’s like we have to lose them twice – once in reality, and once in memory._

_I like strawberry ice cream, but I love chocolate. I love chocolate everything._

_I also can’t believe it’s been over two months. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of you. I hope the same is true for you. I would enjoy reading a letter from you every day, and something makes me think you’d never run out of things to talk about. I am thrilled to hear about your revelation concerning Lydia and Jackson. One less person to compete for your affection._

_I wish you’d never told me about the fireworks and holding you. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since your letter arrived. I’ve imagined it so many times it feels like it actually happened._

_Derek_  
  
*

**August 22nd, 1941**

**Derek,**

**I wish I could help you through your difficult weeks. I hope this letter finds you in better spirits, and if not, I hope it puts you in better spirits.**

**You will definitely have to leave me with a list next time. You told me to be creative once, and maybe I won’t be too embarrassed to tell you some of the “creative” things I’ve come up with. But I’d still like your list. Maybe we should exchange them.**

**That is a lot of people. How do you even survive with that many people in one house? It’s been me and my dad since I could remember. And sometimes that seems too much! I wish I could say something adequate to that – to all that you said. I’m good with words, but not when they are important or should mean something. I hope to one day know all about your family.**

**Whenever I sit down to write these letters, I realize how boring my life actually is. I could tell you about how Scott and I walked along the railroad tracks and I got sunburned really bad – you should see it! My neck and arms are so blistered! Mrs. McCall had to use half her aloe plant to sooth it. I look like a lobster. Or a strawberry. It’s awful; I’m so glad you don’t have to see me like this. I could also tell you about the robbery we had at the hardware store, and how my dad had to conduct a county-wide search for the guy. They found him, thankfully.**

**We can pretend the fireworks happened. I won’t tell if you won’t tell.**

**Since you said you loved chocolate, I got Lydia to give me her fudge recipe. I’ve included a package of fudge, and hopefully it transported well. If not, I apologize. I wanted to surprise you with a present. I hope you like it, but tell me if you don’t so I won’t send it again. (Lydia is very nice, by the way. She helped me make the fudge, and we realized we get along rather well – well, if you count bickering and arguing getting along, which I do, so there).**

**Stay cool and take care of yourself.  
S  
**  
*

_September 3rd, 1941_

_S—_

_The fudge was amazing. How did you know I would love it so much? Please send it anytime you like. I shared some with one of the other guys, but I wanted to take it back as soon as I gave him a piece. I didn’t want to share you with anyone, so I’ve been eating the rest myself. I’m trying to ration it out so that it lasts longer._

_I am in much better spirits, thank you. The fudge did help tremendously, though._

_I started making my list as soon as I read your letter. I wrote down over fifty things before I even realized it, and when I reread it, it looked like it could be parts of those dirty stories I’ve read in some of the guys’ dime magazines. Does that peak your interest?_

_I love hearing about your life, even the boring parts. I’m sorry you got sunburned – I wish I was there to kiss it better or to rub aloe on your neck and arms. Please be careful, I don’t want you to get hurt. Though, I like the idea of you as a strawberry. I laughed at that for a long time, and every time I reread your letter, it makes me smile. I’m glad your dad caught the thief and that he is okay._

_I hope one day we can make the fireworks “memory” a reality._

_I’ve offered you nothing in this letter. I used to play baseball. I wanted to play professionally until the fire. Then it didn’t seem to matter anymore. I was really good, too._

_Thank you again for the fudge._  
Derek  
  
*

**September 15th, 1941**

**Yes! The fudge was a hit! Lydia and I thought it was tasty, but I wasn’t sure if you’d like it. I’ll surprise you again with it soon.**

**I blushed when I read that paragraph in your last letter. My list wasn’t nearly as long, and I think you’ve been exposed to things I’d never think about. Is it sad that I look forward to you showing them all to me?**

**The sunburn has healed. I started school. Actually, I am glad. It’s something different than waiting tables and waiting around for your next letter. It helps the time pass. Plus, I think I’ve made a few friends! Lydia talks to me at school now, and so does her friend Danny. Jackson doesn’t make fun of me every time he sees me, so that’s an improvement.**

**Baseball? I love baseball. My dad and I listen to the games on the radio every time we are able to. Our favorite team is the New York Giants. I was never good at it – it takes too much control and patience, and I don’t have much of either, in case you didn’t notice! I wish you could have played professionally, but then I may never have met you, and that would have been the worst thing to ever happen to me.**

**Did I tell you I play lacrosse? For my school. They started a team a few years ago. Actually, Jackson had a lot to do with getting the team started because a few of his private school friends play at their fancy schmancy schools. Scott and I sit on the bench, but I’m hoping I get to play this year!**

**I’m doing well so far in school. I really like history and math, although I have trouble focusing on anything for too long. My teachers complain about it all the time, but I don’t know what to do. I try really hard, but my brain just bounces all around the place when I’m trying to focus. I found myself thinking about you while we were reading Chaucer the other day. Not that Chaucer reminds me of you, but I was so bored my mind drifted and you were the first thing I thought of.**

**S  
**  
*

_September 28th, 1941_

_S—_

_I wish I could have seen you blush. I love the way you look when you blush, and with a flush to your skin. It reminds me of our last night together because you were flushed then. The memory still takes my breath away._

_I want to show you everything you will let me. I have a feeling that you can show me a lot, too. Even if it’s just how to play lacrosse. I wish I could come to one of your games and watch you play. And maybe one day we can go to a baseball game together. But not a Giants game. How can you like them? I’m a White Sox fan._

_Maybe if you practice and try really hard, you can play a game this year._

_I’m glad school is going well. I was shocked when you said you can’t focus…I never noticed that at all! Chaucer is fine, but I’m not a huge fan. I like things a bit more modern. But I like anything that makes you think of me._

_Derek_  
  
*

**October 7th, 1941**

**YOU DON’T LIKE THE GIANTS? I’m not sure I can continue this correspondence.**

**Well, at least you didn’t say the Yankees. If you’d have said the Yankees, I’d have broken whatever this is off.**

**You do realize that you sound like my big brother when you say to “practice and try.” That may work for you, because you’re you. Obviously. But that doesn’t work for me.**

**One day I hope I can make you blush.**

**S  
**


	3. October 1941

Stiles locked up the diner for the night and made his way down the dark streets of town. The mid-October air was crisp, turning off cold suddenly. Stiles predicted a cold winter. 

He stuffed his hands deeper into the pockets of his thin jacket – too thin to be wearing right now, if he was honest – and slowed his steps when he heard something off to his right in the shadows. He looked around, but the streets were deserted this late at night. 

“Hello?” Stiles asked as he stopped. He peered into the shadows, squinting as he tried to make out the source of the sound. Knowing his luck, it was probably a stray dog or a raccoon. “Anyone there?”

A surprised sound escaped his lips when he saw the source of the noise almost materialize from the shadows. He rubbed his eyes, thoroughly convinced he was seeing things.

“Derek?”

“Hey, Stiles.”

“Derek?” Stiles said again, still not believing that Derek was standing in front of him. “What in the hell are you doing skulking in the shadows?”

Derek’s mouth set in a hard line, and Stiles felt a rush of affection at the familiar expression. “I wasn’t sure how you’d respond, so I didn’t want to just show up at the diner.”

“It’s really you?” Stiles stepped closer to him tentatively. “I’m not dreaming?”

“Unless I’m dreaming, too.”

“That would be weird,” Stiles said. “Sharing dreams. But if we were going to share dreams, I think it should be something much different than this.”

“God, I’ve missed the sound of your ramblings,” Derek said so quietly Stiles almost didn’t catch it. “You let your hair grow out.”

Stiles absently tugged at his longer strands. “Yeah.”

“I love it.”

“It’s taking everything I have right now not to run over and throw my arms around you,” Stiles said. Now that the initial surprise was over, Stiles felt drawn to Derek like a magnet, an itching beneath his skin that felt like ten thousand ants trying to crawl out of his pores. But they were standing in the middle of town, and it didn’t matter that no one was around; he couldn’t chance it.

“It’s difficult for me, too.” 

“I just got off work,” Stiles said stupidly.

“I know. I’ve been watching you for the past few hours.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open, and then his face scrunched in anger. “Hours?” he yelled. “You’ve been here for a few _hours_ and didn’t let me know? We wasted all that time.”

“We have plenty of time. I’m here for a week.”

“A week?” Stiles perked up. He smiled around the words. “Let me go home and wash up and I can meet you somewhere.”

Derek shook his head. “No, go home, get some sleep, we’ll meet tomorrow after school.”

“Oh, no.” Stiles stepped closer to him, his hands itching to touch. He couldn’t see Derek very well in the darkness, but he could tell his hair was a little shorter, his face covered in only a 5 o’clock shadow. There was _no way_ he was waiting until tomorrow to touch him. The space between them was so palpable it almost hurt. “You do not get to show up here and make me wait almost an entire day to see you after four months.”

“Stiles…”

“One week, Derek. That’s all we have. I’m going to spend it with you.”

Derek shook his head, smiling ruefully as he kicked an errant stone with the toe of his boot. “You can’t drop everything just to be with me. You have school and work and your reputation – “

“Derek,” Stiles cut in. He crossed his arms and glared at him. “Why are you here? Why did you surprise me by showing up? And now you’re trying to convince me not to spend time with you? Did you hit your head during training? Because you’re acting like a dumbass.” He stared Derek down, not wavering as Derek matched his glare. And Derek’s glare was much more impressive than his, mostly because he had that eyebrow stuff down pat.

“Why are you being difficult?” Derek asked, but Stiles was pretty sure there was fond affection beneath the irritation.

“What? You want me to just do whatever you say? Is that how we’re playing it?” Stiles shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Fine. See you around, Derek.” He turned and started walking away. “Let me know when you come up with another order for me to follow.” 

“Stiles,” Derek growled. Stiles halted in his steps, a slow smile spreading across his face. The sound of Derek’s low, aggravated voice sent a jolt of desire coursing through his body, and he wasn’t sure what it said about him if Derek growling at him in a shadowy alley turned him on. 

Stiles spun around, shooting Derek an exaggerated curious expression. “Yes, Derek?”

“Fine. You win.” Stiles didn’t miss the grin Derek was trying to suppress.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself. You do realize that by me winning it implies that I win and you do not, right?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I’m winning, too.”

“Man, does that lessen my superiority?”

Derek quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe. But I’ll make it up to you.”

“Promise?” Stiles asked, his cheeks growing warm.

“Absolutely.”

“Maybe start working on that list?” Stiles teased. Apparently, Derek wasn’t expecting that, if the look of utter shock on his face was any indication. Stiles felt rather pleased with himself that he caused that reaction.

“You can’t just say things like that.” Derek’s voice was gravelly and low, and Stiles felt his entire body throbbing with repressed anticipation. It was like a dream, Derek standing right in front of him. Derek sighed. “Fine. I can’t deny you, anyway. You know that.”

Stiles grinned. “I know.”

*

Derek was staying in a hotel outside of town, away from prying eyes. He’d said it would be easier to remain hidden if Stiles wasn’t found sneaking in and out of a hotel room in town. 

Stiles walked home, packed a light bag, and left his dad a note saying that he would be staying with Scott. His dad wouldn’t check – he never checked – so he would be safe. He was also planning on skipping school tomorrow, and he could easily fake a cold if anyone said anything.

Derek picked him up down the street from his house, on one of the streets full of businesses closed for the night. Derek thought they would have less chance of being seen.

Stiles was nervous in the car ride to the hotel. It had been four months since he’d last seen Derek, and now that he was sitting beside him, he wasn’t sure what to say. Propping his elbow against the window sill, he rested his chin in his hand and sighed.

“You’re too quiet,” Derek said. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles looked over at him, his profile barely visible in the light coming from the dash and headlights. “Does this feel weird to you?”

Derek’s hands tightened momentarily on the steering wheel. “A bit, yeah.”

“What does it mean?”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t think that you were right, do you?” Stiles asked, voice quiet as he stared at the road before them. “About the ships in the night?”

The question hung heavy in the air between them while they remained silent. Derek turned into the parking lot of a dimly lit motel and drove the car around back to park. Stiles grabbed his small bag and followed Derek inside his room. As Derek locked the door behind him, Stiles set his bag along the wall and ran an apprehensive hand over the bedspread.

“I thought you weren’t a damn ship.” Derek’s voice was right behind him, and Stiles jumped slightly. He straightened and spun around to face him. “You were very adamant about that, if I recall.”

“I just feel like my head is spinning,” Stiles admitted. “I woke up this morning and looked forward to having no homework and having the day off tomorrow. I thought maybe I’d end up with a letter from you when I got home. And then you show up. In person. You’re here, Derek. And I…” Stiles trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t know how I feel.”

“I can leave, if you want,” Derek said, his face betraying nothing.

“I don’t want that,” Stiles said. “I just…I’m afraid if I touch you I’ll never stop.”

Derek cupped both of Stiles’ cheeks before leaning in and kissing him. It was soft and hesitant, a reunion kiss. They were refamiliarizing themselves with the shape and contours of each other’s lips, rediscovering the soft sounds they made with each touch. Stiles was lost in the warmth and taste of Derek’s mouth, his body trembling with the overwhelming emotion of having Derek back. They kissed for what felt like hours, too focused and nervous to do much of anything else.

But soon, Stiles couldn’t help himself. He slid his arms around Derek’s waist, pulling him close. He needed to feel Derek’s body against his own, strong muscle and warm skin spreading beneath his touch. Derek let his hands travel over Stiles’ face, like he was making sure Stiles was real, and then over his neck and shoulders.

When they finally pulled apart, Derek kept rubbing his thumb over Stiles’ cheek and looking at him intensely.

“Are you feeling any more grounded?” Derek asked.

“Hardly,” Stiles said. “I feel like I’m floating on air.”

Derek moved them over to the bed, the back of Stiles’ legs touching the edge before he let himself fall backwards with a soft bounce. Stiles scooted back while Derek crawled onto the bed, draping his body over Stiles’ as he dipped his head to drop kisses on Stiles’ arm, his forehead, the base of his throat. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Stiles rambled as Derek sat back on his haunches and tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor behind him. Stiles drank in the sight of Derek shirtless above him, and reached out his hands to rub over the defined muscles. “You look even more fit. How is that even possible?”

“Training,” Derek said with a smile as he pushed his hands under Stiles’ shirt. “Let’s get this shirt off, shall we?”

“I have not, unfortunately, been training. So, I fear the view will not be nearly as sexy.”

“Shut up,” Derek said as Stiles lifted himself so he could pull his shirt over his head. He dropped back onto the bed as Derek threw the shirt to the side without a thought. “You look amazing.” Derek leaned down and licked a line from the waist of Stiles’ jeans, all the way up the center of his chest to the hollow at his throat. With each inch that the tip of Derek’s tongue traveled, Stiles’ skin tingled and broke into goose bumps. “You taste amazing, you feel amazing.”

Stiles’ whole body warmed at the compliment and he hummed contently as Derek licked and nibbled at his neck.

“I guess I should be careful,” Derek said as he kissed his way across Stiles’ shoulder. “Can’t leave you with any visible marks.”

“Oh, please don’t. Though, it’s winter, I might get away with wearing scarves.” Stiles smiled as he ran his hands leisurely up and down Derek’s back, enjoying the feel of shifting muscle beneath his palms as Derek moved.

Derek bit down hard just under Stiles’ collarbone, under where the collar of shirt would be. Stiles arched into him, his nails digging into the flesh of Derek’s back as Derek bit and sucked a bruise onto his skin. It hurt, but it also felt good as Derek’s teeth abused his flesh, followed by a wet, warm tongue passing over it soothingly. He felt himself growing hard, and he lifted his hips against Derek.

“This is not going to last long,” Stiles said, catching a glimpse of Derek’s lips over his skin before the swipe of pink tongue. “Not long at all.”

“Just let it go,” Derek said, sliding a hand beneath Stiles and rolling them onto his back. Stiles looked down at Derek, who was looking up at him with eyes full of lust, and Stiles bit his lip nervously. “Don’t think, Stiles,” Derek said, sliding his fingers into Stiles’ hair. “Just go with it.”

Stiles nodded and kissed Derek, sliding his tongue into Derek’s mouth and going back and forth between nipping lightly at Derek’s tongue and lips and moving his tongue against Derek’s. He tried not to think about being on top of Derek, of being the one in control without Derek guiding him. Derek told him to let go, so Stiles let go of all his reservations and just did what felt right. He slid his hands along Derek’s bare arms as he rutted against him quickly. His cock was throbbing, and any bit of friction felt wonderful. He felt Derek’s own erection against his, and he spread his legs wider and braced his knees on the bed so he could quicken his hips. Derek moaned into his mouth, and Stiles’ hands tried to touch as much of his skin as possible.

When Stiles came, he moaned into Derek’s shoulder, his forehead pressed roughly against his neck. He was so intent on his own orgasm that he missed that Derek came at nearly the same time as he did.

“Oh god,” Stiles said, kissing up the side of Derek’s neck and then dragging his tongue against the prickly light stubble. Not quite as thick as the last time he saw him, but Stiles hoped by the end of the week it would grow back the way it was. But the prickly hairs against his tongue sent shivers down his spine as he licked from under Derek’s chin to his parted lips. He was still rocking his hips lazily against Derek, ignoring the sticky mess in his underwear in favor of the sated pleasure of rubbing himself against Derek’s hips. “So much better when that happens with you.”

Derek gave him an open-mouthed kiss, and Stiles returned it eagerly. The pressure of Derek’s fingertips against his neck was soothing in a way he hadn’t known he liked, and it calmed him in a way he hadn’t been in months.

“I thought about you every day when I touched myself,” Derek said against his mouth, and Stiles groaned at the image. “I realized,” Derek started against Stiles neck as he dropped kisses, “that I didn’t spend enough time learning your body.” He licked the hollow of Stiles’ throat, and Stiles shuddered. Derek did it again. “I want to learn every part of it so I’ll never forget it again.”

“Let’s spend the next week naked together,” Stiles said, taking both sides of Derek’s head between his palms and angling his head so Stiles could see his face. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

Derek laughed as he lifted up and kissed Stiles. “We’ll have to leave eventually.”

“Nope.”

“Your dad will come looking for you. They’ll think you’ve been kidnapped, and they’ll come break the door down. Imagine the scandal when they find the sheriff’s son naked in bed with a soldier.”

“With a _gorgeous_ soldier,” Stiles corrected. He traced the outline of Derek’s smile with his finger, his toes hooked under the cuff of Derek’s pants as he dragged against the coarse hair on Derek’s calf. “Maybe we can skip the scandal. I want to keep you all to myself.” Derek opened his mouth and poked his tongue between his lips to pull one of Stiles’ fingers into his mouth. Stiles let his eyes drift shut.

“Are you sure it’s okay if you skip school tomorrow?” Derek asked a few minutes later. Stiles was raking his fingers through Derek’s soft hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

“Yeah. I haven’t missed a day, and no one will say anything if I’m not there. I’ll pretend I got sick.”

“What if your dad finds out?”

Stiles shrugged. “I’ll tell him I was sick. If he doesn’t believe me, I’ll make something up.” Stiles yawned then, wide and loud. 

“Sleepy?” Derek’s hands were rubbing soothing circles against his lower back, and Stiles nodded and laid his head on Derek’s shoulder.

“Yes. I’ve been up since six.”

“I woke up at five.”

“Always gotta out do me.”

“Yep.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want to miss one moment with you, even if I know I’ll be sleeping right beside you. You need to keep me up. I can sleep after you leave.”

“How about,” Derek said, fingers kneading the flesh of Stiles’ hips, “we get out of these pants and messy underwear, and then take a nap. It’s only midnight, and we have all night and all tomorrow.”

Stiles lifted his head and looked down at Derek sleepily. “Okay.”

They cleaned up and changed quickly, Stiles stealing glances of Derek’s perfect ass when he shed his underwear. Derek caught him out of the corner of his eye, and Stiles blushed and looked away. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Derek said as he searched in his bag. “You can look at me all you want.”

“I know.” But Stiles still felt awkward openly staring at another man, at having Derek know he wanted to stare.

“Because I’ll admit it,” Derek said, holding a pair of clean underwear, “I’m not at all embarrassed to be looking at you.”

Stiles glanced down at his bare crotch, feeling rather inadequate next to Derek. His hands automatically covered himself. Still naked, Derek crossed over to Stiles and moved his hands away.

“Never feel ashamed of your body,” Derek said softly. He dragged his lips against Stiles’ temple. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“But compared to you – “

“Stop,” Derek pulled back and looked at Stiles seriously. “Don’t. Everything about you makes me crazy, Stiles.”

Stiles felt his cheeks grow red, and he smiled. “Okay.”

A few minutes later, they were back in bed. Derek was lying on his back with his arm around Stiles, and Stiles had his head resting on Derek’s chest. 

“I can’t believe I get to fall asleep with you,” Stiles said. 

Derek tightened his arms around Stiles. “I know. You’re so warm and solid. You feel so perfect in my arms.”

“Mmmhmm,” Stiles answered, already drifting off.

*

Stiles walked into his house late the next evening. He was exhausted, but giddy. They had slept until around four, then woken up and kissed and touched each other until after the sun came up. Stiles had never come so many times in such a short span in his life (five times since Derek returned! Stiles thought he’d probably never beat that record) and he couldn’t get enough of the feel of Derek’s hand around him, of his hand around Derek. 

He’d been nervous at first, when Derek had pulled his underwear off and been completely naked in front of him. Stiles had never really _looked_ at a man before, not as closely as he looked at Derek. He studied every bit of his cock, and had been so fascinated by Derek’s foreskin that Derek had come just from Stiles touching it experimentally and then playing with it. Stiles wasn’t expecting it, and Derek had laughed at him for almost five minutes because Stiles’ face was in Derek’s crotch and Derek had accidentally come on his face. Stiles was horrified at first, but then he was laughing as they wiped it off with a discarded shirt. Derek had even licked a bit of it, and then Stiles had wiped at it with his fingers and tasted it. As an experiment, of course. “You’ll never stop surprising me,” Derek had said when Stiles licked a bit more from the corner of his mouth, and then proceeded to push him back against the bed and rocked against him until orgasm #3.

The house was empty. His dad had the evening shift, and would be home soon. Stiles went into his room and quickly changed into fresh clothes, although he hadn’t worn those clothes long enough to get them dirty.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked happy. His eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed, his lips kiss swollen. Scattered along his skin under his shirt were marks left by Derek that he’d methodically sucked into Stiles’ skin. Derek had quite a few matching ones himself.

Stiles couldn’t believe this was his life. Even if he could tell someone, no one would believe how amazing Derek was.

Downstairs, Stiles turned on the radio as he cooked dinner. The chicken was almost done when he heard the front door open.

“Today was the longest day,” the sheriff said as he entered the kitchen. “There was a shootout two counties over, so we had to go as reinforcements.”

“Oh no!” Stiles said, spooning greens onto their plates. “I hope no one was hurt.”

The sheriff shook his head and he took his seat. “No, thankfully.” He finally glanced up at Stiles and stared at him thoughtfully.

“What?” Stiles asked, suddenly self-conscious. Was he being obvious? Did Derek accidentally leave a hickey on his neck or stubble burn on his mouth? Could his dad just tell that his son had skipped school to have illicit sex with a soldier?

“You look…different.”

“How so?” Stiles dropped into his seat and began cutting his chicken, trying to act normal.

“Just…happier, I guess. You’ve seemed kind of down lately. Is everything okay?”

Stiles shrugged as he chewed his food. He didn’t realize he’d been so obvious with his emotions, but it was his dad. Not only had he known him his whole life, he was a trained professional at figuring things out.

“Just been busy,” Stiles lied. “Overworking myself, I think. School’s a lot tougher this year, and I’ve been working at the diner a lot.” Stiles speared a few green beans before saying, “I actually stayed home from school today.”

“You did?” the sheriff asked in surprise.

“Yeah. I wasn’t feeling the best, but I think a day of rest really did the trick.” Stiles smiled. He figured telling his dad half of the truth would make things easier. Or, at least he hoped. He hated lying to him, but this was Derek. 

“Whatever it is, I’m just glad to see you smiling again, son.”

Stiles smiled, thinking about Derek as he took another bite.

*

Derek contemplated not returning to Beacon Hills. His friendship with Stiles (Derek called it that though he knew it was _more_ than that already) was complicated. And dangerous, for both of them. It would have been better if he’d have left Fort Ord and gotten on a train away from Beacon Hills. 

But Derek couldn’t do that. He told himself he couldn’t hurt Stiles like that, but Derek knew deep down the reason was much more selfish. Derek had already fallen for Stiles, and fallen hard. He’d known Stiles for how long? Less than a week, plus four months of sporadic letter writing? It was insane. 

Derek didn’t care.

For the first time since the fire, he had a reason to be happy. For the first time since Laura, he had someone who cared about him. And for the first time in his life, he had someone who knew the real him and still wanted him anyway. 

It was selfish, but Derek knew the chances were high that he would go to Europe and die. It happened to thousands of soldiers every day. It happened to Laura. Why should he be any different?

And maybe that was reason enough not to pursue Stiles. He couldn’t imagine what would happen to Stiles if he died, how it would break his heart. But Stiles was young, and Stiles would move on. Find someone to fall in love with who was worth his love.

That’s what Derek told himself to justify the most selfish act he knew he would ever commit in his entire life.

*

The hotel room was too quiet without Stiles there to fill it with his idle chatter. Usually, people like Stiles drove Derek insane. There were guys in the army who just wouldn’t _shut their fucking mouths_ , and talked all day and all night long. Derek usually wanted to stick his boot knife in their eyes. But Stiles was different. Sure, he had no interest in the people of Beacon Hills or the history of male circumcision (which Stiles had detailed to him at length after his experimental observation and Derek’s accident – Derek still laughed at the memory of Stiles staring wide-eyed and horrified with come sliding down his cheeks and chin. It had been hilarious, but also perhaps the hottest thing Derek had ever seen). He was interested in Stiles, even when he annoyed Derek by talking just for the sake of talking.

After Stiles left, Derek went to a diner near the highway for dinner, and then went back to the hotel to fall asleep. One night sleeping with Stiles and the bed felt empty.

The next day, he knew Stiles was at school, so Derek went into town. He’d decided the night before while he was having trouble sleeping that things might be easier for Stiles if Derek made his return to town known, plus he could hang around the diner when Stiles was working. He couldn’t hide Stiles in his hotel room for a week – that really would cause a scandal.

Derek went to the diner first. Eating meals there when Stiles wasn’t working might make it less conspicuous when Derek spent all his time there during Stiles’ shift (which was exactly what he was planning on doing).

Mrs. McCall was at the counter, and she smiled brightly when he entered.

“Derek Hale, right?” She pointed at him. “Stiles’ friend, the soldier.”

Derek smiled and went to take his regular seat. When he didn’t see the chair there, he remembered Stiles telling him he’d moved the chair, so he sat in a nearby empty one at the counter.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“My son won’t stop talking about you. He thinks you’re the greatest thing and some kind of hero because you’re a soldier.” She smiled and grabbed a mug and the coffee pot. 

“I’m no hero, ma’am.”

“Oh, stop that ma’am stuff. Call me Melissa.” She poured the coffee and then took his order. 

She was nice, also a talker like Stiles, but as Derek watched her interact with other customers, he decided it was an occupational hazard. He stayed for awhile, enjoying the company and had nowhere else to go. They talked about baseball, the state of the war, and then she told him stories about Stiles and Scott growing up. 

After leaving the diner, he meandered around town, taking in how much it had changed since he had moved away. 

“Well hello there!” the woman at the bakery said when he entered. “We have us a tourist here. Welcome!”

“Hi,” Derek said, looking at her selection of sweets. “I’m not a tourist. I’m returning. My family used to live here.” After he told her his name, she nodded and told him she’d known his parents. Thankfully, she left Derek alone while he tried to decide what to buy. 

He wanted to buy something for Stiles, but didn’t know what he liked. Stiles had made him fudge, so maybe he liked it, too? Or cake? Pie? 

“Son, you look pained,” the woman said kindly. “Buying it for someone?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, glancing at the different flavors of cookies. “But I don’t know what they like.” He tried to ignore how sad the thought made him.

“Trust me, no girl will be paying attention to the sweet you give her. She’ll only be paying attention to you.” Derek looked up at the woman, who was smiling at him knowingly.

“It’s not, um, - “

The woman stood back with her hand on her hip. “You’re telling me you don’t have a sweetheart? A handsome lad like you?”

“No?” Derek answered, embarrassed. “It’s for a friend.”

“Well, you will find you a sweetheart in no time. We’ve got some mighty fine young ladies around here.” The woman pulled the top off a cake plate and cut small samples from a few cakes. 

“I’m only here a week,” Derek explained as the woman handed him the small squares of different cakes. He popped one in his mouth and nodded approvingly. It was delicious.

“Why?”

“I’m here on leave. I’ve got to report to base in a week.”

“A soldier?” The woman smiled even brighter. “Honey, you need to find you a sweetheart before you go over to that god-awful war. You need a woman to write you letters, need somebody to come home to. You don’t want to go over there without that to fight for.”

Derek nodded. “I’ll take two pieces of the carrot, a piece of the chocolate, and a dozen of those lemon cookies.”

The woman went about packaging his order while he thought about what she said. He’d have to tell Stiles about this, tell him he was his “sweetheart.” The thought made Derek laugh.

“Here you go, dear.” The woman handed him a bag, and when Derek went to pull out his wallet, she held up her hand. “On the house, dear. For your brave service.”

“I can’t.”

“Nonsense. You just stay safe and do Beacon Hills proud, you hear?” Derek nodded and headed towards the door. “Oh, and Derek?” Derek paused and looked over his shoulder. “If you need someone to write to, I have a granddaughter. Think about it.”

Derek smiled and left the bakery.

He walked around town for awhile more, then drove out some familiar roads, but couldn’t bring himself to drive towards the Hale property. When he returned to the diner for a late lunch, Melissa pursed her lips.

“Derek, I know you have better things to do than sit in my diner. Aren’t you supposed to be on leave?”

“I like your diner,” Derek said with a smile as he took a chair at the counter. “It’s got the friendliest service.”

“From you, I only think that’s half a compliment.” She laughed.

After she took his order, someone behind him said, “Derek? Derek Hale?” Derek turned around and was faced with a man in a sheriff’s uniform. “I’m Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles’ dad.”

Derek immediately stood up and stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise.” The sheriff smiled warmly as he shook Derek’s hand, and Derek could see the resemblance. Stiles looked exactly like his mother, remembered her eyes from the photo on the mantle, but the sheriff had the same kind and cheerful glint in his eyes, the same smile. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” Derek said. He was slightly nervous, but if the sheriff suspected anything, Derek was pretty sure he’d be in handcuffs, not chatting with him in the town diner. 

“So, you’re the soldier my son keeps writing those letters to,” the sheriff started, and Derek tensed. He took a sip of his cola and tried to act natural. “It’s nice to put a face with the name.”

“Stiles has been very kind.”

“That’s Stiles,” the sheriff said fondly. “He’s like his mother, never meets a stranger. Let me guess, you came in to eat, and the next thing you knew, he’d told you his entire life story, or the story of Beacon Hills, or maybe the history of the giraffe.”

Derek laughed. “Sounds about right.”

“I hope he hasn’t bothered you. He doesn’t, well, have a lot of friends. Besides Scott, Melissa’s son. He talks to everyone, though, like they’re his friend, and some people don’t like that. He means well, though.”

Something in what the sheriff said made Derek sad. He tried not to think of Stiles being kind and friendly to people who didn’t appreciate how wonderful he was. Stiles deserved more than that. “He hasn’t bothered me, sir,” Derek said. “Actually, Stiles has made coming back home much easier.”

The sheriff sighed as Melissa set their plates in front of them. He reached for the salt and covered his fries before handing the shaker to Derek. “Stiles told me. About your sister. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Derek said quietly.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about them, but I knew your family. Your parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles. They were good people.”

“Thank you,” Derek said again, staring at his burger. “It’s been awhile since I’ve talked to anyone who knew them.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Actually, sir,” Derek turned and gave him a small smile. “It’s nice. To talk about them.”

“I know the feeling.”

Derek nodded and they ate in comfortable silence.

*

Derek waited until after the dinner rush lulled to come back for dinner. As soon as he opened the door, Stiles caught sight of him and grinned. He delivered plates and refilled drinks while Derek grabbed a chair and placed it in his spot. When Stiles finally had a chance to come over to him, he had trouble containing his ridiculous smile.

“Hey!” Stiles said, holding the pad in his hands and rocking back and forth on his heels. “How are you?”

“Good. How was school?”

“Torture. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, except how we’ve wasted an entire day.” Stiles pouted and Derek laughed quietly.

“You’ll live.”

“You’re in your spot.”

“I know,” Derek answered. “I had to steal a chair.”

“That’s okay. I’ll allow it this one time.” Stiles was grinning so widely that Derek thought his face might break in two.

Derek lowered his voice. “You may want to dial it back a notch.” Stiles looked embarrassed and nervous at the same time. “It’s fine, just…not so obvious.”

Stiles nodded, his face serious. He looked so cute, like he was trying really hard to not smile. “Ten-four.” Derek ordered, and then Stiles whispered, “I’ve just really missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Stiles smiled, then realized it, and set his mouth in a hard line. Derek rolled his eyes, but laughed anyway.

“Derek!” Scott rushed into the dining room, grinning. “I didn’t know you were back in town!” Scott slapped Stiles’ arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Um, I just found out like five minutes ago?” Stiles said, and Derek was impressed by how well he lied. No one would ever think he was lying. For some reason, that took a weight off Derek’s shoulders.

“Why are you back?” Scott asked.

“On leave.”

“Stiles said you were at Fort Ord. Was it neat? I bet it was neat.”

“Scott, seriously? The man just got here. Let him eat his hamburger before you barrage him with like a hundred army-related questions.” Scott grinned sheepishly. “Plus, who’s gonna cook his burger if you’re out here talking to him?”

“Oh yeah! Crap!” He raced back into the kitchen, and Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“Sorry about that,” Stiles said, leaning his elbows on the counter. Derek shifted back enough so they weren’t actually in each other’s personal space. “Scott can be a little overly enthusiastic.”

“You don’t say?” Derek raised an eyebrow. “I cannot fathom why you two are friends.”

“Really? Because – “ Stiles stopped and glared. “Are you implying I’m overly enthusiastic?”

“Definitely.”

“You didn’t seem to mind it that much last night,” Stiles whispered before standing and going to check on his other tables, leaving Derek staring at the counter in shock. 

Scott ended up talking to Derek while he ate, and Derek could tell that Stiles was jealous Scott was taking Derek’s attention and time. Derek thought Scott was a nice kid.

When Scott finally went back into the kitchen to start cleaning up, Derek asked, “What’s with his obsession with the army? Why does he want to join up so bad?”

Stiles glanced through the kitchen window before saying, “His dad was a big hero in the first World War. There were only three men from Beacon Hills who fought in the war. Scott’s dad was one of them, Jackson’s dad, and well...”

“My dad,” Derek finished, and Stiles nodded. 

“What happened to Scott’s dad?”

“Got sick when Scott was like ten, I think? He’s been obsessed with being a war hero like his dad ever since.”

Stiles disappeared and cleaned off his last remaining table when the customers left. Derek pulled out his wallet and left the bills by the plate. He waved to Stiles as he left, and Stiles looked at him like he was leaving forever. Derek just smiled, then called goodbye to Scott before leaving the diner.

Derek was waiting in his car in the small alley behind the diner when Stiles walked around the building about an hour later. Stiles opened the passenger door and climbed inside.

“You’re a jerk.”

“Why?” Derek smiled and started the car, carefully pulling out onto the deserted street. He drove out of the city limits, towards the preserve. 

“I thought you just left me. With barely even a goodbye.”

“Stop complaining. I left you instructions on the napkin.”

“Still. For a minute, I really hated you. I may still hate you.”

Derek drove down familiar roads towards an overlook point. He turned off the car and looked at Stiles, who was glancing at the view through the windshield. “This is beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Derek reached over and rubbed his fingers along the back of Stiles’ neck. He felt Stiles shudder beneath his fingertips as he closed his eyes. “I have a surprise.” Stiles’ eyes popped open and he looked over, excited.

“Ooh!” He made gimme hands, and Derek reached behind the seat and carefully grabbed the container. Stiles looked at it curiously as Derek sat it in his lap. When Stiles opened the top, his face broke into a smile. “Cake! And cookies! How did you know?” Derek watched as Stiles grabbed the carrot cake and took a big bite. Stiles hummed happily, his eyes drifting shut as he chewed.

Stiles liked carrot cake, Derek noted. Good to know.

*

Unfortunately, they only had about half an hour to spend together before Derek had to drive Stiles back into town. They’d spent most of the half hour talking, Stiles telling Derek about school while eating the cake. He finished off the piece of carrot before moving on to the chocolate and then downing a few cookies. Apparently, Stiles just liked sweets. 

Stiles had broken off part of the chocolate cake and shoved it at Derek’s face, not letting Derek take it because he insisted on feeding it to Derek instead. After glaring at Stiles, Derek opened his mouth and let Stiles drop the piece of cake into his mouth. Then, he watched as Stiles licked chocolate icing from his long fingers, his tongue darting out absently as he dragged it up and down his fingers. Derek’s brain went in all sorts of directions it shouldn’t have, and he had to force his gaze away.

“What are your plans on Saturday?” Derek asked Stiles when he pulled to a stop on a deserted street near Stiles’ house.

“I have to work, why?”

“I want to take you somewhere, but if you have to work – “

“I’ll skip work if I have to,” Stiles exclaimed. “Yes. The answer is yes. I want to go anywhere with you.”

Derek chuckled. “Okay. But you can’t sneak off. You have to tell your dad you’re going somewhere with me. Get his permission. Otherwise, no deal.”

Stiles groaned, but when Derek set his hard gaze on him, he begrudgingly agreed.

The next morning, Derek went to the diner and sat in his usual chair. “Derek, seriously. You need to do something better with your time.” Melissa smiled kindly as she poured him a cup of coffee. 

He sat contently at the counter for awhile, met the other cook who worked there when Scott wasn’t working, and chatted with Melissa. When the breakfast rush had cleared out, Melissa stopped in front of him with her hand on his hip.

“If you’re going to sit there, I’m going to put you to work.”

Derek nodded and stood up. “Sure, anything you need, Melissa.”

Melissa shook her head and looked at him in disbelief. “Really? That was supposed to be a tactic to get you to go out and explore the town, do something useful with your leave.”

“I don’t mind. I’d love to help.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you come back here for leave? You obviously had no intention of seeing the sights.”

Derek took a deep breath and looked at her squarely. “I had nowhere else to go.” Which was the truth. Now, there was just the added bonus of Stiles.

“Now you do,” Melissa said. “You’ve got people here who care about you.” Derek realized that she was right, and it wasn’t just Stiles. He’d befriended Melissa and Scott in addition to Stiles. He had friends. 

It was a strange concept.

Melissa had him to act as a general handy man, doing tasks that Stiles and Scott were too busy to get done on a regular basis. “It’s hard,” she admitted as he moved some old furniture and other heavy objects out of the storage room to the dumpster. “My husband used to do everything, but I can barely make sure everything gets done.”

“I think you’re doing a fantastic job,” Derek said. “This diner is one of the nicest I’ve ever been in.”

“It’s not easy,” she said. “Scott and Stiles help so much, but soon, they’ll be moving on and I’ll have to hire new people. The thought makes me sad.” Derek smiled at her before they went back inside.

She sent him to the hardware store, had him change light bulbs, and take down the sign hanging outside on the sidewalk. “Can you paint?” she asked.

That’s why Stiles came in after school and found Derek along the far wall, kneeling on a tarp as he repainted the sign.

“What in the world are you doing?” Stiles asked. Derek looked up at him, his eyes slightly blurry from staring so intently at the wood for the last few hours. He was wearing his white undershirt, his arms, hands, and shirt covered in paint. Derek didn’t miss the way Stiles’ eyes lingered on his arms, or his ass for that matter.

“Repainting the sign.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“Melissa asked me.”

“Oh, _Melissa_ ,” Stiles said. 

“Yep,” Melissa said as she came in from out of the back. “He was so pathetic, just hanging around here all day, so I put him to work.”

Stiles laughed at him. “Sucker,” he said, but he dropped onto the floor beside Derek. He leaned up against the wall, his feet planted on the floor beside the tarp. “I have a few minutes before my shift. I have to witness this.”

Derek lifted the paintbrush, and very gently, flicked the brush against Stiles’ bare arm. Stiles stared at it in horror and Derek chuckled before turning back to the sign. He was about to put the brush onto the wood when he felt something splash the side of his face. He lifted his head, glaring. Stiles was stifling a laugh behind his hand. “Real mature.”

“You started it.” Derek focused back on the sign, but Stiles reached out and dragged his thumb across Derek’s cheek. “You had a bit of paint,” Stiles said, his voice low. The sound lapped its way down Derek’s spine, settling somewhere deep inside him. “You’ve got a bit more, just here.” Stiles trailed his fingers against the side of Derek’s neck, and Derek let his eyes flutter shut.

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice meant to be a warning but it sounded more pleading. 

“I want to smear this all over your skin,” Stiles whispered, wiping his thumb just under Derek’s lip, “and see where my fingertips have been.”

“Hey Stiles – um, what are you doing?” Scott asked as he burst into the diner. Derek jerked up as Stiles jumped back, knocking over the small can of paint.

“Shit!” Derek muttered, grabbing the sign and leaping to his feet so as to miss the spreading blue paint. 

“Derek is repainting the sign for your mom, and he accidentally splattered it everywhere. I was helping wipe it off before it dried.” Stiles walked away from Derek, and Scott looked between them, confused.

The next day, Derek continued to do small things around the diner for Melissa. He’d left the sign drying overnight, so he was able to hang it back outside. He had three women wave at him as they passed by. 

When Stiles came in, Derek had just started putting together a table to replace the rickety one behind the counter that held the coffee mugs and water glasses.

“I thought you were a soldier, not a carpenter,” Stiles said as he slung his school bag behind the counter. Derek ignored him as he aligned a nail and hammered it in. “You’re scaring away business.”

“Stop bothering him,” Melissa said as she came in from the back. “He’s done more the past few days than you and Scott ever have.”

“That hurts, Mrs. McCall. Really. After all the hours I put in here?” 

“You get paid.” She pointed to Derek. “He’s doing it for free.”

“Suck up,” Stiles said. “Here, give me the hammer. I’ll help.”

“No,” Derek snapped, reaching over and grabbing another nail.

“I can hammer stuff.”

“No.”

“You don’t think very highly of me, do you?”

“Not really.” Derek looked up and smirked at him. 

“Come on, Derek. Let me help.”

Derek sighed in exasperation. “Fine. Come hold the wood – just like this. Don’t mess it up, or I’ll mess up the whole table.”

“You can count on me, captain.”

“I’m not a captain,” Derek muttered around two nails between his lips. Stiles was bent over the table, so close that Derek could smell the soap and sweat on his skin. Other than their time at the diner, they hadn’t been able to see each other, so it’d been two days since Derek had kissed Stiles, had touched him (other than the disastrous painting incident the day before), and Derek could feel his skin singing with Stiles so near.

“Fine. Private, then.”

“Not a private, either.”

“What are you then?”

“Stiles!”

“Sorry, shutting up.”

Stiles held the two pieces of wood together as Derek hammered in the nails, though it was difficult with Stiles’ hot breath ghosting across his neck every time he breathed. When Derek finished the last nail, Stiles said, “I wish I could just lick the sweat from your neck.”

Derek whipped his head up, eyes wide. Stiles was grinning, and then walked away like he’d said nothing. When he glanced over at Stiles, he thought he saw movement in the kitchen window.

“You know,” Melissa said as she came into the dining room as Derek was finishing the table. “I’ve seen the way the women look at you. You’re handsome, a great help. You hang around this place long enough, you’re gonna snatch you up a wife in no time. Better watch out.” She patted Derek on the shoulder as she disappeared back into the back.

“Do I need to be worried?” Stiles asked quietly.

“Maybe,” Derek teased. “She was right about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“She said if I hang around this place long enough I’d find someone. It took me half a day.” Stiles blushed and busied himself with the silverware.

Later, Derek mentioned that he was worried Scott was getting suspicious. Stiles craned his head over his shoulder, to the now-empty kitchen window. “Scott? Nah. He doesn’t suspect anything.”

“Still,” Derek said, absently turning the bottle of Coca-cola around on the counter. “Maybe we should be more careful. Just in case.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Fine. Sure.”

“Good.”

“By the way. My dad said I could go Saturday. And Mrs. McCall gave me the day off.”

“Really?” Derek felt a surge of happiness, but then he looked at Stiles suspiciously. “What did you tell them?”

“That you had to move some stuff of your family’s somewhere near the coast and had no one to help you, so you asked me to help out. My dad was a little hesitant at first, but he eventually agreed.” Stiles smiled, obviously pleased with himself. 

Derek nodded, trying to convince himself this was all a good idea.

*

Stiles couldn’t wait until Saturday. A whole, uninterrupted day with Derek. It was like the most perfect thing that could ever happen. Especially since they had barely seen each other for the past three days. Well, alone. Derek spent his free evenings at the diner. Essentially, they had only spent that first night together. And Stiles needed some alone time with him, pronto.

“Hey,” Scott said as they were leaving school on Friday afternoon. Stiles was on cloud nine. He didn’t have to work on Friday afternoons since it was Stiles-Dad dinner night, and the next morning he was leaving with Derek bright and early. Derek wouldn’t tell him where they were going, but Stiles didn’t care.

“Hey.” Stiles grinned.

“Mom said you asked for tomorrow off.”

“Yeah.”

“She said you were going somewhere with Derek?”

“Yep. He’s gotta go move some stuff from Laura’s old apartment. He hasn’t had time to do it since everything happened, and he needed some help.” Stiles shrugged. He felt kind of like an asshole for using Laura in his lie, but it was the first thing that popped into his head. And he had to come up with a plausible excuse for him to go away with Derek for the day.

“Doesn’t he have army buddies who can help with that?”

Stiles shrugged. “He doesn’t talk much about any guys in the army.”

“Doesn’t that seem a little weird?”

Stiles bristled. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I like Derek, but the guy seems a bit weird. Mom says he spends all his free time in the diner during the day, and he’s there almost all the time when we’re working. Who does that? He has no friends, except you.”

“Is there something wrong with me?” Stiles asked.

“No,” Scott said, sighing. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Derek’s nice. He’s lost his entire family and has no one. Imagine not having me, your mom, or even my dad.”

Scott shrugged. “I guess.”

Stiles clapped him on the shoulder. He was definitely not going to let Scott’s weirdness upset his perfect mood.

*

“Dad, I’m home!” Stiles yelled as he walked through the house. He went into his room, threw his school bag on the floor while toeing off his shoes, and then hurried to the kitchen. He skidded to a halt just inside the doorway.

Sitting at the table with his dad was Derek. Immediately, his heart started pounding and he was pretty sure he was going to have a panic attack. All sorts of things ran through his mind – like one of his dad’s deputies had followed him and knew he’d been sneaking around with Derek and they were going to get arrested and he was going to get disowned and – 

Derek gave him _a look_. That look said, _Calm the fuck down before your father finds out._

“H-hey, Dad…what is Derek doing here? I didn’t even know you two knew each other, I mean, it’s a small town and I figured the sheriff might run into someone eventually, but it’s not like you knew what he looked like or – “

“I met him at the diner,” his dad said, amused. Derek was behind him, shaking his head with his hand over his face. “We had lunch.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, completely floored. He looked at Derek pointedly. “You had lunch.” He really wanted to slap Derek and ask him why he hadn’t told him that he’d eaten lunch _with his father._ “What is he doing here now?”

The sheriff huffed and turned to Derek. “I apologize for Stiles’ rudeness. He says whatever pops into his head.”

“It’s a gift,” Stiles said.

“It’s annoying,” his dad retorted. Derek smiled. “I thought I’d grill steaks tonight.” He turned to Derek. “Stiles watches everything I eat very carefully.” The sheriff got up. “Excuse me, Derek. I’m going to change out of my uniform.” 

When the sheriff left the room, Stiles rushed over and dropped into the seat his father just vacated. “What the hell are you doing here?” he whispered urgently.

“What was I supposed to say? He just invited me to dinner,” Derek replied quietly. “He saw me in town and I couldn’t say no because that would look weird.”

“I’m dead. You’re dead. We’re dead, like a possum on the side of the road baking in the sun dead.”

“Not if you’d calm the hell down!” Derek glared at him, but then his expression softened as he reached over and squeezed Stiles’ hand briefly. “It’ll be fine. Just act normal. Don’t think about me as anything other than your friend.”

“Right,” Stiles said, taking a deep breath. “I can do this.”

Stiles led Derek into the living room as they waited for his father. Stiles sat on the opposite end of the couch from Derek, and when he glanced at the space between them, his brain immediately jumped to all the times they had made out on that exact couch.

“Stiles, stop thinking about it,” Derek whispered, and Stiles quickly started thinking about something much more mundane, like dirty socks and the diner. 

The sheriff spent the next two hours talking with Derek. They talked about the army, Derek’s family, Stiles growing up, Beacon Hills – small talk and familiar subjects. The longer they talked, the calmer Stiles became. It was amazing how easily Derek and his father interacted. It made Stiles both happy and sad – two of the most important people in his life got along, but he could never tell his father how he felt about Derek, invite Derek over for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner, treat him as one of the family.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” the sheriff asked suddenly. Stiles hadn’t even realized he’d drifted out of the conversation until his father spoke to him.

“Huh? Oh, nothing.” Stiles shrugged. Both his dad and Derek were looking at him closely, with varying shades of concerned expressions on their faces. 

“You look a little sad.” The sheriff gave him a sympathetic smile before turning to Derek. “Stiles has been a bit blue lately. He won’t tell me why, tells me that I’ve been making it up, but I know my son, and he’s been down for a couple of months now.”

Stiles felt his cheeks grow hot. He knew that it wouldn’t pass Derek’s notice the time frame and coincidental nature of Stiles’ mood. And sure enough, Derek turned to him with a thoughtful gaze.

“Dad,” Stiles groaned. “Stop embarrassing me.”

“Fine.” His dad held his hands in surrender. “I’m going to go put those steaks on the grill now.” He got up, and Derek followed suit.

“Is there something I can do, sir?” 

“Any good with a grill?”

“Not really.”

The sheriff laughed. “Neither is Stiles. He does the cooking, but I’m the grillmaster in the family.”

Derek followed the sheriff onto the back porch, where his dad kept rambling to Derek as he cooked the steaks. Stiles fixed a salad in the kitchen, suddenly feeling melancholy. The whole thing was stupid because Stiles had never been naïve enough to think he’d have anything with Derek, except – yes, he had been that naïve. He’d fantasized about Derek coming home from the army and them buying a little house away from everyone and living happily ever after. 

In his fantasies, he never dealt with reality. He never dealt with things like how his father would never know and they couldn’t get married or walk down the street holding hands. It wasn’t fair.

“Got that salad about ready, Stiles?” his dad called as they reentered the house. The sheriff put the steaks on the table and showed Derek where the plates were so he could set the table. Stiles grabbed the bowl of salad and the baked potatoes he’d put in the oven and carried them over to the table.

When they were seated around the table, Derek looked at him closely and posed a silent question with the quirk of his eyebrow, but Stiles just gave him a fake grin. Derek didn’t look completely convinced, but after giving Stiles a small, encouraging smile, he turned his attention to the food. A few moments later, Stiles felt Derek’s foot press against his own, and then rest there. Stiles smiled down at his plate, the warmth and feel of Derek against him comforting.

“So Derek,” the sheriff started as he cut into his steak, “Stiles tells me you asked him for his help tomorrow?”

_Ah_ , Stiles thought. _So this is why Dad invited Derek over._

Derek wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Yes, sir.”

“Where is this apartment of your sister’s?” 

Derek glanced at Stiles briefly, and Stiles hoped Derek had come up with a cover story to match what he told his father.

“On the coast,” Derek replied. 

“Why exactly do you need Stiles’ help cleaning it out? Don’t you have army buddies who could help?” Stiles noticed his dad didn’t look suspicious – he knew his law enforcement gaze and it wasn’t there – he genuinely looked curious. And was doing his fatherly duties by checking up on Stiles’ story, he’s sure.

“No one else is on leave,” Derek said. “Stiles is the only person I thought of that could help.”

“Well,” the sheriff said, cutting his steak, “I don’t know how much help Stiles is gonna be, because physical labor isn’t really his thing.”

“Thanks Dad, really,” Stiles responded with rolled eyes. “Don’t listen to him, Derek. I’ll do my share.”

“Good luck, Derek.” The sheriff concentrated on his steak, and Derek smiled.

*

Derek and Stiles were washing the dishes while his dad cleaned the grill when they heard a knock at the door.

“Think you can handle this while I get the door?” Stiles joked.

“I think I’ve got it,” Derek said sarcastically, smiling as he bumped Stiles’ leg lightly with his knee. Stiles found it adorable, and it made not kissing Derek difficult. All evening, he’d been trying to think of Derek as a friend, not as his…whatever he was. Boyfriend? Lover? Sweetheart? Really good friend? But ever since they started washing dishes together, standing that close to one another, accidentally (and purposefully) bumping against one another…Stiles really needed to kiss Derek. Preferably sooner than later.

Stiles ran a hand lightly down Derek’s arm, biting his lip with a smile as Derek flicked suds on him, before he went to answer the door. He was surprised to find Scott on the other side.

“Hey, buddy!” Stiles said. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, I need to talk to you.” He glanced over his shoulder at the black car parked on the street. “Does your dad have company?”

“Yeah, Derek’s here.”

“Derek? Derek’s here?” Scott exclaimed, wide-eyed.

“Yeah. Apparently, they met in the diner and Dad wanted to invite him over because I’m helping him with that family stuff tomorrow.” Stiles shrugged. Scott grabbed Stiles’ hand and pulled him into the yard, over to the side of the porch. “Scott, what are you doing?”

“What’s going on with you and Derek?” Scott whispered.

Stiles felt all the blood drain from his body. For a moment, he could do nothing but just stare at Scott. Panic started bubbling inside his chest, but he concentrated on his breathing while he stared at Scott’s obvious disbelief and disapproval. Finally, he regained his ability to speak and said, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Scott huffed in irritation. “Stiles, I’ve seen the two of you in the diner. I’ve seen the way you look at him. You’re going to help him clean out his dead sister’s apartment. It’s weird. He’s weird. There’s no reason he should be hanging around the diner all the time, but he does. He’s there from the time you get out of school until you get off. My mom has even started talking about him because he’s always there.”

Stiles tried to play it off by giving shaking his head incredulously. “You’re overreacting. He’s just a lonely soldier and a nice guy. We’re friends.”

“You’re more than friends, aren’t you?” Scott whispered. “That day with the paint. That wasn’t normal. You two have something going on.”

Stiles felt like his world was crashing down. He didn’t know what to do, and so he stood there, staring at Scott in absolute terror. The longer he stood there not denying it, the more shocked Scott’s face became.

“It’s true,” Scott whispered. “You two…Stiles, do you know how wrong that is? He’s a _man_.”

“I know that,” Stiles snapped. “But I don’t care.”

Scott took a step back. “This isn’t like you, Stiles. Why do you want to throw away your life for some soldier passing through?”

“Because I don’t think I’m throwing my life away.” Stiles spun around and stormed back into the house, Scott calling after him. Stiles slammed the door behind him, and Derek and his father, who were now sitting in the living room, both turned towards him in surprise. As soon as they saw him, worry creased both their features.

Stiles didn’t know what to do. He was on the verge of a panic attack, and he couldn’t tell his dad why. He just couldn’t talk to anyone right now. 

“Stiles?” the sheriff stood up and started to walk towards him. “Are you alright?”

“Um, I just had a fight with Scott,” he said, barely holding on to his emotions. “I…I’m gonna go to my room. I’m sorry. I’ll see you in the morning, Derek.”

Derek stared at him as he turned and ran up the stairs into his bedroom. He slammed the door and flung himself on the bed. His entire body was trembling. What was he going to do? Scott was his best friend, but that was also before Scott realized Stiles had begun a relationship with a man.

God, how stupid had they been? Thinking they were being discreet, but instead being careless. Stiles hadn’t cared, he’d only wanted to be with Derek – damn the consequences. And here were the consequences. It wasn’t just his life, either; it was also Derek’s life and his career. Stiles didn’t want to think of all the terrible things that could happen if people found out, especially since his father was the damn _sheriff_. 

Stiles heard a car start outside and then a knock on his door. “Stiles?” his dad’s voice sounded as he opened Stiles’ bedroom door. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“What happened with Scott?”

“Fight.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

He heard his dad sigh loudly, and then the door close behind him. Stiles lay on his bed for about twenty minutes before he walked downstairs. His dad was in the living room, listening to the radio. He looked up when Stiles entered the room.

“I’m going to Scott’s. I need to talk to him.”

“You sure?” His dad looked at him with concern, and Stiles nodded.

“I can’t sleep like this. He’s my best friend.” Stiles turned to go. “Don’t wait up.”

But Stiles wasn’t going to Scott’s. Stiles was going to Derek’s hotel. 

Because Derek would know what to do.

*

Derek’s hotel was a little over three miles outside of town, so it took about forty-five minutes for Stiles to walk there. But he didn’t mind. It was a crisp night, but not too cold, and the walk gave him time to think. 

He was flat out terrified now. Scott was his best friend (or at least had been), and Stiles hoped that he wouldn’t tell anyone. What did it matter anyway? Derek would leave in less than a week, and then he’d probably go to Europe, and they’d never see each other again. Derek would meet someone, a dashing French man perhaps, fall in love and live happily ever after. Or Derek could die. 

That thought clouded Stiles’ entire brain. He blamed the cold air as he wiped his damp eyes. He couldn’t imagine a life without Derek, with Derek dead. As he thought about it, a fresh wave of panic overcame him for a completely different reason.

By the time Stiles knocked on Derek’s hotel room door, he was a wreck. Derek opened the door, and Stiles immediately buried himself in Derek’s arms. Derek hadn’t even shut the door yet. 

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

Stiles couldn’t answer. He just buried his face against Derek’s neck, clinging to him, his body solid and warm underneath his palms. 

“Stiles, you’re shaking.” Derek ran a hand over his hair as Stiles fisted his hands in Derek’s shirt, ignoring the tears rolling down his cheeks. Derek held him tightly, his arms a comforting protection from everything. Maybe if Stiles stayed right here in Derek’s arms, focusing only on the steady beating of his heart, the world would fall away. It would just be the two of them, and nothing else.

A knock sounded on the door, causing Stiles to jump. Derek looked at him sharply, and Stiles’ breath started coming in short little gasps. “Hey,” Derek said, cupping Stiles’ face between his hands and forcing him to look at him as another knock sounded on the door. “It’s okay. Breathe.” Derek kissed him lightly on the mouth and then walked to the door as Stiles disappeared into the bathroom. He closed the door and listened.

“I know he’s here.” Wait, Stiles thought. He knew that voice. “Where’s Stiles?”

Stiles came out of the bathroom to find Scott standing in the doorway, Derek staring at him suspiciously.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked angrily after Derek shut the door. “Did you follow me?”

“What are you doing here?” Scott asked.

“I asked you first.”

“Yeah well, you’re gonna answer first.”

“What’s going on?” Derek’s loud voice cut in between them as he stepped close to Stiles. 

“Scott figured it out,” Stiles said. This wasn’t his life. He was not standing here, having this conversation.

“I gathered that much,” Derek replied. 

“Hey, you asked,” Stiles snapped. 

“I’m going to let you two talk,” Derek said, looking between them. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He reached out and squeezed Stiles’ hand before walking towards the door. Stiles did not miss the glare that he shared with Scott as he passed.

After Derek had closed the door, Scott asked, “His hotel room, Stiles? Really?”

“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?” Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

“I followed you.”

“You were creeping in my bushes?” Stiles exclaimed.

“No!” Scott scoffed. “I was walking through town because I was upset and saw you. I figured you were meeting Derek, so I followed you.”

“Now you have proof. Go run off and tell everyone.”

“Do you really think I would do that?” Scott asked, visibly hurt.

“I don’t know, Scott. I don’t feel like I know very much right now.”

“How do you think I feel, Stiles?” Scott asked. “I just found out my best friend since like forever is interested in men.”

“Not men,” Stiles corrected. “Just Derek.”

“Why, Stiles? Why would you want to do this to yourself? It’s not like you two can have a real life together.”

“And why not?” Stiles asked. “It’s nobody’s business.”

“What about your dad?”

Stiles shrugged. “Don’t care.”

“I just don’t understand.” Scott dropped onto the edge of the bed. “You don’t even know him. It’s only been a few days.” 

“More like four months.”

Scott’s eyes went really wide. “Four months?” He gaped at Stiles. “This started when he was here before?”

“We’ve been writing letters.”

“How did you keep that from your dad?”

“He knows. About the letters, at least.”

Scott shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Stiles, what’s your plan? Why? I keep asking, but why would you want to do this to yourself?”

Stiles tentatively sat beside Scott. “You know how you feel about Allison? Like she steals all the air when you’re in the room and you can’t imagine your life without her?” Scott nodded. “That’s how I feel about Derek.”

“So, you love him?”

“No. But I might one day.”

“But you’ve only spent like a few days with him and written some letters. Don’t you think maybe you’re jumping to conclusions?”

Stiles glared at Scott. “You wanted to marry Allison after meeting her.” Scott smiled sheepishly. “Look, I don’t expect you to understand it. But I’ve never felt this way. He makes me feel…alive. Like maybe life will be worthwhile after all. I’ve never felt like I belonged or I would find someone. I never could see myself being like you and Allison, but then I met him. He’s…” Stiles shook his head. “I can’t even describe it. And I love you Scott, you’re like my brother. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to be friends with me anymore.”

Scott didn’t say anything, and Stiles felt like someone had ripped out his heart. This was Scott. They’d grown up together, done just about everything brothers did. He couldn’t imagine his life without him. But if he had to choose, he thought it would be easier to live without Scott than it would be Derek. And that realization terrified him.

The door opened then, and Derek slipped inside, looking between the two of them. His gaze landed on Stiles, and his mouth set in a hard line. He started towards Stiles, but Scott stood up, blocking his path. 

“I don’t understand why you two would want to pursue this,” Scott said. “I don’t know why you would want to do this to yourselves.” Derek glared at Scott, and Stiles was scared. Damn, he never wanted to be on the wrong end of that glare. 

“It doesn’t matter if you understand or not,” Derek replied, voice eerily even. Stiles noticed, however, Derek’s fists clenched at his sides.

“Derek,” Stiles said. Derek and Scott both turned to look at him. Stiles shook his head, and Derek heaved an aggrieved sigh but stepped around Scott to stand beside Stiles. He placed a protective hand on Stiles’ shoulder and glared at Scott.

“Stiles,” Scott pleaded. “You don’t really want to do this. I don’t know what to do if something happened to you.”

Stiles felt Derek’s grip tense on his shoulder, and Stiles felt himself torn in half, one part Derek, one part Scott.

“You’re choosing him?” Scott asked, pointing at Derek with a shaking hand. “You’re choosing some travelling soldier who will probably die over your family?”

Derek took a step forward, but Stiles jumped up in front of him, causing them both to stumble. 

“Derek,” Stiles yelled. “I can’t deal with this, too,” he whispered. Derek breathed heavily through his nose and stalked to the other side of the room.

“Scott, I’m not going to change my mind,” Stiles said, standing firmly in front of Scott.

“You’re going to get your heart broken,” Scott said. “One way or another. Don’t expect me to be standing there when it happens.” Scott stormed out of the room and slammed the door.

Stiles stared at the closed door, trying to figure out what he just did. He wasn’t even sure if he did the right thing. Maybe Scott was right. Was he really throwing away a lifelong friendship for nothing?

But then Derek’s hand landed on his shoulder, and Stiles leaned into it. Derek didn’t say a word as he slid his arms around Stiles’ waist, and he didn’t say anything when Stiles buried his face against his neck. 

*

Derek had trouble sleeping. He just kept tossing and turning, thinking about the look on Stiles’ face when he opened the door, the way he’d wanted to punch Scott, the slump to Stiles’ shoulders as he remained silent the entire drive back to his house, the way he’d felt such a responsibility to protect him and do whatever it took to get that look off his face. 

To say it had been a stressful night was an understatement. When the sheriff had slowed the cruiser beside him as he walked towards the bakery, Derek hadn’t expected a dinner invitation. He wasn’t really surprised since the man was not only the sheriff, but Stiles’ dad. He cared about his son, that much was clear. Derek was honestly surprised that he was letting Stiles come with him at all.

Derek knew he should pack up and leave town. This was dangerous, and both of their lives on the line. But Derek told himself that it would be okay, that somehow they would make it work. Derek was in love with him, and dammit, something had to go right for once in his life.

*

Stiles was bouncing in the seat beside him. He held the cup of coffee and muffin Derek had bought for him at the bakery before picking him up. Derek hadn’t expected him to be in such high spirits after what happened the night before, and Derek was pretty sure he was pretending. Stiles took a bite, then a long drink of coffee.

“I can’t believe we’re going somewhere, together,” Stiles said excitedly. “In a car. A road trip. I’ve never been anywhere in a car, except for the few times I’ve been driven around town. Heck, I’ve never been out of Beacon Hills.” Stiles grinned. 

“Really? Never?”

Stiles shook his head as he took another sip of coffee. “Nope. Farthest I’ve been is to the outskirts of Beacon County with my dad on a call. No reason to go anywhere else. I’ve got no family anywhere, it’s not like we go on vacations.” 

“I’ve never been outside of California,” Derek said.

“I’m glad that we’re doing this,” Stiles said. “I’m glad that you’re the one I’m seeing the world with.” Stiles reached over and grabbed his hand.

“It’s hardly the world,” Derek scoffed, but there was a warmth in his chest anyway. 

“Where are we going?” Stiles asked as he threaded their fingers together. 

“It’s a surprise,” Derek replied. 

“Not fair. I’m just supposed to trust you?”

“Yep.”

“Good, because I do. Trust you, that is.” Stiles leaned across the bench seat and placed a kiss on Derek’s cheek.

“We need to talk about last night,” Derek said after a few minutes. He felt Stiles tense beside him.

“Do we have to?”

“Don’t you think we need to?”

Stiles sighed and pulled his hand from Derek’s. He slumped against the door, arms crossed over his chest. “I guess.”

“What?” Derek asked. “What’s wrong?” Stiles was silent, and as much as Derek sometimes wished Stiles wouldn’t talk so much, he found his silence disconcerting. “Stiles, talk to me.”

“What if Scott’s right?” Stiles started quietly. “What if we’re fooling ourselves, Derek? What kind of life will we have? Look at us now, sneaking around, lying to my dad, hoping we can steal a few minutes here and there.”

“It’s not going to be like this forever.”

“How do you know?” Derek chanced a glance at Stiles, and Stiles looked young and sad slumped in the seat.

Derek shook his head to clear it. “Soon, you’ll graduate from high school, turn eighteen, be an adult and not have to worry about your dad. I won’t be in the army forever, and hopefully the war will be over in a year, maybe two at the most. Think about it. In a year, we could be together.”

“Is that what you want?” Stiles asked. Derek suddenly feared that maybe he was jumping to conclusions, assuming that Stiles would want that. Stiles said, “Because I want nothing more than to buy a little house with you and spend my days in your arms. But I can’t imagine you wanting to spend your days with me.”

“Have you not figured anything out?” Derek asked. “How I feel about you?” Derek reached over, eyes still on the road, and blindly felt for Stiles’ arm. When he found it, he pulled Stiles’ arms free and grabbed his hand. “I haven’t been this happy in a long time.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“I’m sorry about Scott finding out,” Stiles said, covering the back of Derek’s hand with his other hand. Stiles’ fingers absently drew designs on his skin. 

“It’s okay. I don’t think he’s going to rat you out.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he cares about you.”

“Are we that obvious?” Stiles asked. “I thought we were being discreet.”

Derek sighed. “I don’t think we’re being completely subtle. But I don’t think it’s as obvious as you fear. Scott knows you better than anyone.”

“Maybe we should be more careful.”

“Maybe.” Derek squeezed his hand. “But we don’t have to worry about that today.”

*

Derek drove towards the coast, refusing to tell Stiles where they were going no matter how many times he asked. Finally, he turned down a long dirt path that opened up onto a long, deserted beach. Derek parked the car and looked at Stiles nervously.

“Well, this is it. I hope it’s okay.”

“Are you kidding?” Stiles got out of the car, tripping when he stepped down. It didn’t slow him down as he hurried towards the water. “This is fantastic.”

Stiles ran towards the water, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks as he went. Derek laughed as he watched Stiles splashing in the water, his jeans rolled to his knees. Derek spread a blanket on the sand, and then joined Stiles in the water. He waded out until the water was halfway up his calves. 

“I’ve never been to the ocean before!” Stiles exclaimed. He was laughing, his face open and happy in the sunshine. The fall air was cool, but the sun warm on their skin. Derek watched Stiles running around with joy and felt himself falling even harder as he watched him. He wanted to show Stiles everything, be with him when he discovered everything outside of the small borders of Beacon Hills.

After Stiles got tired of playing in the water, they walked over and dropped onto the blanket. “This is amazing,” Stiles said, sitting with his legs stretched out. “Smart thinking with the blanket.”

Derek hooked a leg around Stiles, straddling his hips. He slid his arms around Stiles’ neck. “Oh? Got any plans for the blanket?”

“This is a good preview.” Stiles grinned and Derek leaned down and kissed him. Stiles gripped his ass as he licked into his mouth, and Derek settled his weight on Stiles’ lap. They kissed like that for a few minutes, Stiles’ hands exploring underneath the hem of Derek’s shirt. Stiles’ hands were cold against his warm skin, and his fingertips lightly grazing against Derek’s skin sent a shiver down Derek’s spine.

“Are we alone?” Stiles asked, pulling away and looking around.

“This beach is quite secluded,” Derek explained, “especially in the middle of October.”

“Good to know.” Stiles grabbed the front of Derek’s shirt and laid back, pulling Derek down on top of him. He groaned when Derek shifted his legs and their crotches pressed against each other. Stiles went for Derek’s buttons, but Derek stopped him.

“What?” Stiles asked, lips red and kiss swollen. Derek moaned as Stiles unconsciously licked his lips, and Derek had to kiss him again. When Stiles went for his fly again, Derek grabbed both of his hands and pinned them to the blanket. “Ooh, are we playing it that way?” Stiles grinned slyly.

“No. We need to talk.”

“About what?” Stiles bucked his hips against Derek’s, causing just enough friction against their erections that Derek’s eyes drifted shut. So Stiles did it again. “Don’t think I want to talk.”

“Well, too bad.” Derek moved onto his knees, and Stiles tried to thrust his hips against Derek, but couldn’t get enough height. “Please, Stiles? Then I want to swim with you, and then I have one other place I want to take you.”

“How about,” Stiles started, his knee coming up and massaging Derek’s cock slowly. Derek couldn’t help himself when he involuntarily started rutting against Stiles’ touch. “We get each other off, and then I will talk to you.”

“Promise?” Derek asked breathily, now shamelessly moving against Stiles’ knee. 

“Promise.”

Derek let Stiles’ hands go and they were a flurry of hands and mouths as they shed their clothes and started rutting against each other. When they were fully naked, Derek reached between them and grabbed their cocks in his hand. Stiles came almost immediately, and Derek was close behind.

Afterwards, they lay facing each other on their sides. Derek carded his fingers through Stiles’ hair, memorizing the way Stiles’ lashes fanned across his cheeks, the way his lips parted as he breathed. 

“You sure we’re safe here?” Stiles asked suddenly.

Derek nodded. “I used to come here all the time as a kid. We own the land connected to this particular beach.”

Stiles looked at him with wide eyes. “How rich are you?”

“My family was well off.”

“Then why in the hell are you in the army? You could just do whatever you want.” 

“A Hale has fought in every single war since the French and Indian War,” Derek explained. “It’s why Laura so desperately wanted to be in the military.”

“That’s impressive,” Stiles said. “So, you want to talk?” 

“You’re not okay,” Derek said.

“I’m fine. Actually,” Stiles said, draping an arm across Derek’s waist and scratching his ass lightly, “I’m more than fine.”

“I’m serious, Stiles. You were a wreck when I left you last night.”

Stiles pulled away and rolled away from Derek into a sitting position. “I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it.” Stiles got off the blanket and bent down to pick up his underwear.

“Bullshit,” Derek shouted, propping himself on his elbow. Stiles stopped, and Derek memorized the soft swell of his ass, how pale his skin was under the dark hair on the back of his thighs. “I know better than anyone what shoving your feelings down inside yourself looks like.”

Stiles spun around. “I cried for a good ten minutes last night, wasn’t that enough? The last time I cried was at my mother’s funeral. What do you want me to say? Nothing that I say is going to make anything better. Nothing I say is going to fix my friendship with Scott. Nothing I say is going to make anyone understand what we have. So, what in the fucking world do you want me to say?”

“I don’t care,” Derek exclaimed, pushing himself into a sitting position. “Just don’t pretend you’re okay when you’re not. I know how serious last night was.”

“Do you want me to tell you that I’m fucking terrified?” Stiles asked, raising his voice.

“If it’s true.”

“Then I’m fucking terrified!” Stiles yelled. Derek moved to go towards him, but Stiles stepped back. “Don’t. I’m terrified, Derek. I don’t know what to do. And I don’t know how you can just sit there and be okay with all of this. Don’t you care at all?”

Derek did jump to his feet this time. He glared at Stiles, not understanding how he could be so clueless. 

“Stiles, don’t you get it? I’m always fucking terrified. I’ve been terrified since my family burned to death in a fire!”

“Then why in the hell do you want me to admit it if you aren’t going to?”

“Because I don’t want you to end up like me!”

Stiles surprised Derek then by lunging towards him and kissing him hard. The kiss was mostly teeth, rough and bruising as they attacked each other’s mouths. Stiles jumped up, wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist, and Derek spun around and carried him over and laid him back on the blanket. Stiles was hard again, and he was biting at Derek’s neck, his nails scratching down Derek’s back. The thought of the marks Stiles would leave made Derek’s cock jump, and Stiles started thrusting against Derek with his legs still around Derek’s waist.

“We,” Derek said, panting against Stiles’ neck, “are supposed to be talking.”

“We talked,” Stiles said before biting Derek’s shoulder. Derek moaned and squeezed Stiles’ nipple between his fingers.

“I’m not satisfied,” Derek said as he reached between them and cupped Stiles’ balls in his hand. “Distracting me with sex is not going to work.”

Stiles dropped his head back to the ground and looked up at Derek. “I told you I was scared. What more do you want?”

“I want you to be okay,” Derek said. Stiles’ eyes rolled back into his head as he massaged his balls and dragged his finger along the skin just behind them. “I want you to be okay when I leave you.”

“I’ll be fine, Derek,” Stiles said, arching his back and pressing their bodies even closer together. “There’s not much we can do about any of it, is there?” Stiles gripped Derek’s shoulders as he leaned up to lick at the base of Derek’s throat, then across his stubbled jaw and behind Derek’s ear. 

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek moaned, quickly losing himself to Stiles’ mouth. He hated how defeated Stiles sounded, how jaded and weary even though they were together in this moment, touching as much skin as possible. He didn’t think it was possible to get so excited so quickly, but the way Stiles was nibbling his ear and neck, and the way his hands were gripping and scratching at his ass was quickly unraveling Derek. Then Stiles slid a finger between his cheeks tentatively, and Derek groaned as he thrust his hips even quicker. Following Stiles’ lead, he reached farther behind Stiles’ balls, pressed along the soft skin behind them and then turned his head to kiss Stiles firmly on the mouth as his finger fluttered over Stiles’ hole.

Stiles gave a surprised shout as he came between them, his hips thrusting against Derek erratically. Derek reached between them and gave his own cock a few tugs and came moments later.

He collapsed heavily on top of Stiles. Stiles’ arms immediately came around him and slid along his sweaty back.

“Good talk,” Stiles joked against Derek’s hair.

Derek lifted his head, and Stiles was grinning at him. “You’re not funny,” Derek groused. “I’m serious. I’m worried about you.”

Stiles reached up and cupped Derek’s cheek. “Look, Derek. I know that you care about me and are worried. But I really don’t want to talk about it. I want to spend today with you and talking to you and making love with you. I don’t care about anyone else. It’s just you and me.”

Derek nodded, Stiles’ thumb brushing across his cheekbone. “Just you and me.”

*

“Come on!” Derek yelled later as he turned around and smiled at Stiles before taking off running towards the ocean.

It felt bittersweet to be running towards the water. The last time he’d done this had been with his siblings. He could still hear Laura’s laughter, see his brothers pushing each other, hear Cora calling behind them not to leave her. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel them in this place.

But now he was here with Stiles, sharing this place with someone new that he loved. Creating new memories and new ghosts.

When he ran into the water, he felt the waves lapping at his nude body, cold against his sun-kissed skin. He turned around and saw Stiles walking slowly towards him. “Be more excited!”

“Nothing will make me excited about swimming in the cold ocean. While _naked_ ,” Stiles exclaimed.

Derek arched an eyebrow. “What, you’ve never skinny dipped before?”

Stiles stepped up to the water, the tide washing over his feet, and just stood there. “Yeah, but I was definitely not thinking about Scott in the same way I’m thinking about you.”

Derek grinned. “That’s a good thing.” Derek dived under the water, and then broke the surface with a toss of his head.

“What if someone sees us?” Stiles shouted.

“You’re worried about someone seeing us now? Not before, when we were fucking?” Derek asked with a smirk. “Come in!”

“Your teeth are chattering!” Stiles yelled. “It’s freezing!”

“Wimp.”

“Shut up. I don’t want to get pneumonia.”

Derek kicked his feet out and swam on his back. “You won’t get pneumonia.”

“So you say.” When Derek lifted his head, he saw Stiles wading into the water. “You’re a terrible influence, Derek Hale.”

“I know.” 

Derek swam over as Stiles swam into the water. 

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, THAT’S FUCKING COLD!” Stiles yelled as he swam further out into the ocean. Derek swam over to him and wrapped his arms around Stiles’ body.

“Then let me warm you up.”

“Was this your plan?” Stiles asked. Derek shrugged, smirk on his lips. “All you had to do was ask. I would have gotten naked without all the freezing cold water. Now, my balls are shriveling up. Goodbye to any future fun times with little Stiles.”

Derek kissed Stiles to shut him up. They spent a few minutes kissing before Derek started swimming around again. Stiles remained in the same place, treading water. 

“I used to come here with my family,” Derek explained as he floated on his back. His body was adjusting to the cold water, and along with the warm afternoon sun, he was pretty content. “My siblings and I would swim out here for hours.”

“What were they like?” Stiles asked.

“Loud,” Derek said, smiling as he stared up at the sky. “My brothers used to fight and try to dunk each other, Laura liked to sun herself on the beach, and I remember teaching Cora how to swim here.” He smiled at the memory, but it accompanied the dull pain in his chest.

“Sounds wonderful,” Stiles said. 

Derek floated over to Stiles and straightened so he could wrap his arms around Stiles from behind. He rested his chin on Stiles’ shoulder as they looked out at the ocean waves. “I miss them,” Derek said quietly, “it’s like everywhere I look I see some memory of them. But it’s a good hurt. I don’t want to forget them, forget that they were here.”

Stiles turned his head and kissed Derek’s cheek lightly. They stayed like that for awhile, treading water as they held each other.

*

Later, Derek took Stiles into the small town nearby for dinner. Before they started back to Beacon Hills, they stopped at a small general store. “We need snacks,” Stiles said as they entered the small store. The store was mostly empty, just a few guys in there besides them. 

“We just ate dinner,” Derek said as he followed Stiles to the food aisle. He stood closer to Stiles than he probably should have, but no one was paying them any attention. 

“We need road food.” Stiles filled his arms full of food.

There was a group of guys at the register watching them suspiciously. Derek didn’t like the way they looked at Stiles, but then again, Stiles was rambling about the history of bar-b-que and wood chippings, so maybe it was just that. Derek noticed back in Beacon Hills a lot of people looked at Stiles strangely when he went off on his tangents.

Derek hurriedly paid and led Stiles out of the door. He was putting the sacks behind the seat when Stiles exclaimed, “I forgot the cola!”

“You can live without it,” Derek said. He really just wanted to get on the road.

“No, I can’t. I’ll be quick.”

“Stiles!”

“Derek! Why are you suddenly in such a hurry?” Stiles rolled his eyes as he rushed back towards the store. Derek stood outside the car, anxiously waiting for Stiles to return. While he waited, the three men came out and walked towards the only other car in the parking lot. They eyed Derek warily as they walked, and Derek really hoped Stiles would hurry up.

“Hey George,” one of the men said. Derek felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. “Ain’t that the fruit we saw earlier? The one swimming naked on the beach?”

“Where’s his little fairy?” George responded. “The one swimming with him?”

Derek glared at them, not sure what to do. And where in the hell was Stiles? Derek braced himself; he wasn’t going to start a fight, but he was prepared to defend himself.

Stiles came out then, sipping from his Coca-cola bottle. “Alright, Sparky, let’s – hey, what’s going on?” Stiles asked as he noticed the two guys glaring at Derek.

“Look, it’s fairy boy.” The other guy came up behind Stiles, and Stiles jumped, dropping the cola bottle.

“Don’t touch him!” Derek yelled. The men laughed as Stiles rushed across the parking lot towards Derek.

“Don’t want me to touch your little boyfriend?” the man, George, sneered. “You two ain’t nothing but an abomination. The sight of you sickens me.”

“Stiles, get in the car,” Derek ordered, and Stiles obeyed quickly.

“You both should die!” the other one yelled. “Rid the world of your filth!”

Derek got into the car as they yelled after them and hastily drove away.

“What in the hell was that?” Stiles shouted.

“Fuck,” Derek muttered as he checked the rearview mirror, but he didn’t see anyone following. “Are you okay?” Derek asked as they got on the main road.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said. After a few minutes, Derek glanced over at Stiles. His knees were pulled up to his chest, his chin resting on them, arms wrapped around his shins. He was staring absently at the road in front of them.

“Stiles – “

“Scott was right,” Stiles said. 

Derek braced himself. _This is it_ , he thought, hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. _I knew it was too good to be true._

“How are we ever supposed to have a relationship? We were on your land, a private beach, in the middle of nowhere. We’re not safe anywhere.” Stiles sounded so defeated, so sad. Derek wanted to kiss him until every ache in his voice was taken away.

Derek ran a hand over his face in frustration. “I don’t know.”

“We were lucky. They could have killed us.” Stiles played with the hem on his jeans absently, his long fingers moving of their own accord.

“What do you want to do?” Derek asked, defeated.

“I think maybe this is a bad idea. Us. Trying to fool ourselves. It’s not worth all this, not worth our lives.” Stiles turned his body away from Derek and stared silently out of the passenger side window. 

Derek felt the last few wisps of hope he had vanish.

*

The silence in the car was deafening. Stiles leaned against the car door and stared out into the late afternoon sky. As they drove, the sun started to set, the sky a brilliant array of purples and pinks and oranges.

He almost turned around and told Derek to look. But no, he couldn’t do that. Not anymore. Stiles didn’t want to push Derek away, but it was for the best. First, there was Scott, and then these guys. What would happen next? Stiles was terrified it would be something much worse.

The closer they got to Beacon Hills, the worse he felt. There was a pain settling in his chest that he’d never felt before. It was different than the constant ache he felt after his mother died. This was an empty hollowness that filled his chest, consumed every space inside of his body until he could feel it seeping out of his fingertips, threatening to rip him apart.

Stiles knew he should let Derek go and get over him. He’d meet someone eventually. Stiles would go back to Beacon Hills, graduate from high school, get a job, meet a woman, get married, have kids. He’d live his life. Safe, protected.

Wasn’t that what he wanted? Wasn’t that why he was sitting there in silence, running away from Derek? So they could be safe and protected? He’d have a decent life, tried to think about what it would be like to marry someone else. Thought about kissing someone else, having sex with them. And then he thought of never seeing Derek again.

Stiles couldn’t describe the ache he felt.

What was he doing? How had this become his life? His life had always been boring, worth nothing. Until Derek swept in and turned it upside down.

Derek wasn’t safe, there were so many “what ifs” that accompanied staying with him. But the more Stiles thought about leaving him, the less the rest of his life seemed worth living.

And that’s how Stiles finally came to the realization he should have ages ago.

“Don’t take me home,” Stiles said as Derek drove towards town. “Go to your hotel. We need to talk.”

Derek didn’t respond, but turned the car around and drove to his hotel. Stiles silently followed Derek inside the hotel room, pushing past him as Derek closed and locked the door. When Stiles heard the chain set into place, he spun around to face Derek.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles blurted. Derek stepped further into the room and looked at Stiles with wide eyes filled with what Stiles thought might be hope. “This has been the hardest four months of my life. But they’ve also been the best. I’m still terrified, and hell, after tonight, I’m more terrified than ever. But the longer I sat beside you not talking to you, the more I realized how much of an idiot I was being. If I leave you, then they win. And goddammit, I’m not going to let them win. They’re not going to rip us apart.”

Derek walked closer, watching Stiles closely. “Are you sure? Because Stiles, I’ll be honest. I can’t go back and forth with you. I want to be with you, or I want to start getting over you.”

“I’m pissed at myself.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasted so much time being upset about this, time I could have been spending with you.”

Derek closed the distance between them, reaching out and lacing their fingers. “It’s okay,” Derek said quietly. “It’s not like this is easy.”

“You make it seem so easy.” 

“I’m just better at pretending and hiding my feelings.” Derek leaned forward and kissed the side of Stiles’ head, then dragged his lips along his hairline. 

“Maybe I should be like that,” Stiles said thoughtfully. “Maybe then all this could have been avoided.”

“It’s not your fault,” Derek whispered against Stiles’ forehead, his lips working their way across Stiles’ face. “And don’t ever change. You’re perfect just like you are.”

“Now you’re lying,” Stiles said, laughing slightly. “There’s not one perfect thing about me. I’m a fuck up. A total fuck up.”

Derek pulled back and looked Stiles in the eyes, his gaze so intense that it felt like Stiles’ insides were melting. “Everything about you, every imperfect thing you do, every quirk makes you who you are. And personally, I find that okay.”

Stiles dropped his eyes, hiding his blush and the ridiculous grin spreading across his features. But apparently, Derek wasn’t having that because he tipped Stiles’ face up with his finger, forcing him to look back into those hazel eyes. Stiles was pretty sure everything worth living for was contained in Derek’s eyes, and he found himself falling into them over and over again.

“I love you,” Stiles blurted. He stared at Derek, surprised at his own words. From the look on Derek’s face, he was just as surprised. Stiles had figured it out, while riding in the car, but he hadn’t intended on telling Derek, hadn’t intended on admitting it. Hell, he didn’t even know if Derek felt the same way. The words had just slipped out of his mouth of their own accord, pushed out by the overwhelming feelings he felt expanding throughout his body. 

“Really?” Derek’s voice was quiet, like he wasn’t quite sure he believed what he was hearing. Stiles had never thought of Derek as anything but the strong, stoic soldier, but suddenly, seeing him in the warm light of the hotel lamp, Derek was stripped of all that. Stiles saw him as something different for the first time, as a man, vulnerable and nervous and raw. 

“Really,” Stiles replied, voice low. “I love you.”

Derek held Stiles’ face between his palms as he kissed him. Derek’s lips were soft, but his mouth urgent as he kissed Stiles, and Stiles knew this was the moment, this was the moment that he admitted to himself that there was no way he was ever going to be able to live without Derek Hale.

Stiles grabbed Derek’s shoulders and pulled him to the bed, their mouths trying to communicate all the things their words couldn’t. Stiles let his hands roam over Derek’s face, touching his cheeks and ears and hair, before sliding over his shoulders and down his back. Stiles never thought kissing could be like this, something he never wanted to stop doing, something that took his breath in the same way it made him feel like he was breathing for the first time. 

Stiles didn’t know how long they lay there like that, with Derek on top of him, just kissing. By the time Derek pulled away, his lips kiss-swollen and eyes bright, the sun had gone down completely outside. 

“I need to get you home,” Derek said, cupping Stiles’ face.

“I’m not leaving you,” Stiles said. “My dad doesn’t know what time I need to be home. It’s still early.”

Derek pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, but he didn’t force Stiles to leave. “I need to hit the head,” Derek said, kissing Stiles one more time before getting up and walking to the bathroom. Stiles lay there on his back, biting his lip as he stared at the ceiling. He felt like he was going to explode. He’d made his decision, sometime between the car ride home and spending an hour doing nothing but just kissing Derek, Stiles decided that Derek meant more than anything else. He’d deal with the fallout later, but now, he wasn’t going to waste another moment worrying about everything. He was going to focus entirely on Derek.

Stiles pulled off his shirt and lifted his hips to slide off his pants while he waited for Derek. He rose up into a sitting position when he heard Derek open the bathroom door.

“I see how it is,” Derek said when he saw Stiles lying on the bed in his underwear. “Getting started without me.”

“There’s no fun in that,” Stiles replied as Derek crouched on the bed in front of him. He raised onto his knees and wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck. “Just speeding things up.” 

“Denying me the pleasure of removing your clothes,” Derek said, shaking his head. “So cruel to me.”

“I know. I’m so cruel,” Stiles smiled as he leaned forward and kissed Derek. They kissed for a few moments, and then Derek stood up. He tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it at Stiles’ head. Stiles squeaked, and then looked up, where Derek was waiting on him. He was absolutely beautiful in the soft light. He couldn’t believe Derek was real, or that he was his.

“So,” Derek asked as he pushed the button on his pants through the hole, “how do you feel about watching me undress for you?” One eyebrow rose in question, and Stiles didn’t stifle his moan.

“Yes, please.”

Derek slid the zipper down very slowly, and Stiles stared at it transfixed. Then, Derek hooked his thumbs under the band and pushed the pants down his hips, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. Stiles stared at the smooth planes of his body, the swell of his thigh, the V of his hips. He licked his lips. Derek grinned as he very slowly pulled his underwear off, his half-hard cock bouncing slightly when it was free. Even after spending half the day with Derek naked, Stiles still wasn’t used to the sight of his body.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Stiles found himself saying. Derek almost looked bashful as he slowly dropped to his knees on the bed and started kissing and licking at Stiles’ stomach. Stiles propped himself on his elbows so he could watch. Derek was just teasing him, licking along the band of his underwear, but then Derek lifted himself up onto his hands and knees and just hovered above Stiles’ body. 

“I love you, Stiles,” Derek said, his voice low and thick. Stiles swallowed and looked into Derek’s eyes, detecting no hesitation or lie or anxiety. Derek loved him. Derek _loved_ him. His face broke into a wide smile. “Though,” Derek said, scratching his cheek against Stiles’ chest, “I’m still not sure you love me. It’s too unbelievable.”

“Believe it,” Stiles said, reaching up and brushing his fingers through Derek’s dark hair. Derek stared into Stiles’ eyes for a moment before dragging his eyes down to his lips, then lower, to his neck and shoulders. Derek trailed his fingers over the marks he’d left on Stiles’ skin days before, the purple fading now. Derek kissed each one, then covered the one right under Stiles’ collarbone with his mouth. He licked and sucked before biting the skin. Stiles arched into his mouth, his fingers disappearing into Derek’s hair. Then he trailed his tongue across Stiles’ stomach and circled his bellybutton. Stiles’ eyes fell shut as Derek licked around his hips and purposefully avoided his cock. “Please Derek,” Stiles said as Derek licked at the dark hair above his groin, “touch me. I’m going insane.”

“Be patient,” Derek said, leaning up to flick one of Stiles’ nipples with his tongue. Stiles moaned aloud as he squirmed. “Enjoy it. Don’t you like the feel of my mouth on your body?”

“Of course,” Stiles said, “but my cock is going to explode. Like, literally explode all over everything. Just poof, and then it’ll be gone.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “We need to work on your stamina.”

“I’m sorry, oh mighty solider of control. I’m not even sure you’d be able to keep from begging.”

Derek smirked, an eyebrow quirked. “Wanna bet?”

Stiles grinned. “Oh hell yeah.” Stiles lunged forward and tousled with Derek until he rolled Derek onto his back. Or, more appropriately, Derek let him be rolled onto his back, because Stiles knew who was the stronger one in this relationship. He didn’t really care. 

“So, payback,” Stiles said, rubbing his hands together as he drank in the sight of Derek naked and hard and stretched out for him. “Where to start?”

Stiles leaned down and followed Derek’s example of kissing the marks he’d left a few days ago, and then bit and licked a fresh one next to an old one. He liked the way Derek squirmed underneath him as he bit his skin. Derek seemed to like it, if his groans were any indication, so Stiles bit down even harder, which caused Derek to arch and moan. Stiles moved to Derek’s nipple next and bit down on the already hard bud. Derek’s hands were in his hair, gripping roughly. 

“Stiles,” Derek moaned as Stiles moved to the other nipple. 

Stiles lifted his head. “What was that?”

“Your name, not me begging,” Derek said with a smirk. “I’m not that easy.”

Stiles grinned and kissed across Derek’s chest and torso, following all the lines of muscle with his tongue and teeth. Derek was making such beautiful noises beneath him, and Stiles never would have imagined that he would be a loud lover since he was usually so quiet. Stiles made it his mission to completely unravel Derek one day, cause him to scream with abandon. 

But right now, he had a different mission.

Stiles licked around Derek’s hips, bypassing his cock as he moved to his thighs. He lifted one of Derek’s legs and made little bites on the tender flesh on the inside of his thighs, then licked the freshly reddened skin, enjoying the contrast between soft skin and coarse hair on his tongue. Then Stiles angled his head to swipe his tongue behind Derek’s knee. At that, Derek thrust his hips into the air, so Stiles did it again.

“Enjoying yourself there?” Stiles asked as Derek writhed on the bed.

“Immensely.”

“Just enjoying my mouth?” 

“I could do this all day.”

“Oh really.” Stiles dropped Derek’s knee and patted the side of his leg. “Turn over. Up on your hands and knees.” Derek looked at him suspiciously. “You think I’m going to let you lay on your stomach so you can hump the floor? You’re not cheating at this, Derek Hale.”

Derek laughed as he started to turn over, but reached out to pull Stiles into a kiss. “I want you to win,” Derek mumbled against his mouth.

“Oh, I know you do.”

“But I’m not just going to let you win.”

“No, you’re not. Because we don’t play that way.” Stiles grinned. “I’m going to make you beg me to touch you, Derek.”

“I hope so.” Derek kissed him again and then crawled onto his hands and knees. Stiles felt his cock jump at the sight. He’d never seen Derek quite like this – neither of them had been like this – and Stiles just had to stare at Derek on his hands and knees, spread open. Stiles stared at the taut line of his back, then at his ass, two perfect cheeks and the slight dusting of dark hair between the crack, and two full, pink balls hanging between his legs. Stiles swallowed thickly.

He’d never thought about things, like _things_ , things like sex with a man and what the logistics would be. But staring at Derek like this, just a tease of what would be before him if he leaned down and spread those two round ass cheeks, Stiles’ brain almost short-circuited.

Derek glanced over his shoulder in concern. “You okay?”

“Um, yeah.” Stiles nodded and tried to get his heartbeat under control. If he came before Derek, that would be kind of embarrassing. Plus, Stiles was still getting used to all this – being with a man, having sex. It was a lot to deal with. And sex, well _that kind of sex_ , was just a bit too much for him right now.

But that didn’t mean he was immune to Derek in front of him. Stiles leaned down and pressed the flat of his tongue against one of Derek’s ass cheeks. Derek made a garbled sound in his throat, and Stiles could feel the shudder beneath his tongue. He licked over the swell to his lower back, and then he did the same thing on the other cheek. When he was done, he bit into the soft flesh.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek said, head on his arms as he pushed back against Stiles’ face. Stiles licked over the red mark, then licked his way along Derek’s spine. When he got to his tattoo, he licked the dark ink, his tongue swirling around Derek’s damp skin. He peppered kisses across Derek’s shoulders, and then kissed his neck before nibbling his ear. When he pulled away, Derek’s arms were shaking.

Stiles slid his fingers into Derek’s damp hair. “How you doing?”

Derek turned his head to look up at him. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his mouth parted as he tried to control his breathing. “You…just…Stiles.” Derek shifted into a sitting position and wrapped an arm around Stiles’ neck, pulling him into a crushing kiss. The kiss was mostly tongue, Derek seeming like he was trying to crawl into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles kissed back with fervor, moving forward to meet Derek until they were nearly in each other’s laps. 

Stiles broke the kiss and started on Derek’s neck again, licking and grazing his teeth against the flesh. “Should we call it a draw?” Stiles murmured before he started sucking lightly on Derek’s Adam’s apple.

“Maybe,” Derek said, voice hoarse, “because I want to touch you so bad I can barely stand it.”

“Then maybe I win,” Stiles said before nipping gently at Derek’s chin. 

Derek angled his head to scowl down at Stiles. “We both win.”

Stiles shook his head as he crawled into Derek’s lap. “I win,” he murmured against his mouth. Derek grabbed him around the waist and moved them quickly so that Stiles was on his back. Then, Derek kissed all the way down Stiles’ chest, finally hooking his thumbs into Stiles’ underwear. He looked up at Stiles through dark lashes. 

“We both win,” he said before removing Stiles’ underwear. Stiles nearly cried from relief when his cock was free, and it twitched in anticipation as Derek kissed further and further down. Then, Stiles’ mind caught up with events and oh. _Oh_.

Derek moved between Stiles’ open thighs and looked up at Stiles in question. Stiles swallowed, trying not to come just from the thought. He nodded.

Then his world went white. 

Derek slid his lips over the head of Stiles’ cock, and Stiles’ hips bucked up involuntarily, sliding more of it into Derek’s mouth.

“Oh god,” Stiles moaned, fisting the blanket as he tried to control his hips. Derek moved his head a few times experimentally, trying to figure out exactly what to do, but Stiles didn’t care. His lips were pressing around his shaft, Derek’s tongue was flat and warm against the underside of his cock and then moving around and circling the head. “Oh god,” he repeated. “Fuck, your mouth, Derek.” 

Stiles bent one of his knees, digging his heel into the bed to brace himself as he slid his hand into Derek’s hair. The strands were soft under his fingers as he flexed and unflexed his fingers. 

Derek’s mouth was growing more confident, and Stiles was too busy focusing on the feel and the slightly obscene slurping sounds to notice what Derek was doing with his other hand. But then he felt a slick finger sliding behind his balls and then circling his hole. He thrust into Derek’s mouth again involuntarily. “Shit, sorry,” Stiles mumbled, opening his eyes and looking down at Derek. He looked so beautiful between his legs, eyes closed and dark lashes fanning beneath his eyes, cheeks hollow as his lips slid along Stiles’ cock. 

But then Stiles stopped thinking completely. Derek pushed the tip of his finger inside him, past the tight ring of muscle, and Stiles cried out. He was close, so close, and then Derek slid the slick finger in even further, up to the first knuckle, then the second.

“I’m close,” Stiles managed in between his incoherent ramblings, but Derek didn’t remove his mouth. He just slid his finger out and then back in, setting up a contrasting rhythm to his mouth. It didn’t take long until Stiles was throwing his head back and gripping Derek’s hair as white light exploded behind his eyelids. He didn’t even realize he was thrusting into Derek’s mouth until he started to come down and noticed his hips moving of their own accord. He dropped his hand from Derek’s hair and slumped into a boneless pile on the bed. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered, his eyes closed. “I am so sorry.”

“For what?” Derek asked, stretching out along Stiles’ side. His body was a warm constant against his skin, touching him almost from head to toe. Derek’s hands were carding through his hair, and Stiles leaned into the touch and sighed happily.

“For the coming and the thrusting and the hair thing.” Stiles felt himself blush, and then Derek’s fingers fluttered across his pink cheeks. 

“Believe me, you have _nothing_ to apologize for.” Derek leaned down and kissed him hungrily, and Stiles could taste the remnants of himself bitter on Derek’s tongue. After a few moments, when his brain started working again, Stiles noticed that Derek was rutting against his hip. He popped his eyes open as he pushed Derek away.

“Don’t think that if you get yourself off on my hip that you win. I count that as me still touching you.” Stiles smiled lazily, and Derek laughed. Stiles pushed himself into a sitting position as Derek rolled onto his back. His mind was swimming, his body like a jellyfish, but he wanted to touch Derek, to take him in his mouth and taste him. Stiles really had no clue what he was doing, so he followed Derek’s lead by first laying between his legs on his stomach.

“You don’t have to,” Derek said, propped up on his elbows above him.

“I know.” Stiles smiled before taking a deep, calming breath and then sliding his lips over the head of Derek’s cock. Derek moaned loudly, which if Stiles was honest, was worth everything. Derek’s cock felt weird in his mouth, and it tasted odd, not bad, just odd. He moved his head a bit lower, and Derek’s hand came down on his shoulder.

“Be careful of the teeth,” he said, and Stiles immediately pulled off, embarrassed.

“Crap, I’m sorry.”

Derek reached out and placed his palm against Stiles’ cheek. “It’s okay. Please don’t stop. It felt fantastic.”

“Just not the teeth.”

“Not the teeth,” Derek said with a smile. Stiles moved his lips back over Derek’s cock, watching closely as Derek’s head fell back, exposing the long line of his neck. He was making small sounds, little moans and whines, as Stiles moved his head up and down. Stiles couldn’t take Derek very deep, but it didn’t seem to matter. Derek was writhing, his hips angling forwards in small little motions. Stiles wrapped his hand around the base to keep Derek’s cock still, and Derek seemed to like that, so Stiles kept his fist snug around the shaft as he sucked on the head.

“Stiles,” Derek moaned, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulder. “So close.”

Stiles pulled off for only a moment. “Come in my mouth, Derek. I want to taste you like you tasted me.”

“Oh god, Stiles,” Derek said as Stiles slid his mouth back over his cock, and he began sucking and moving with more intent. Derek’s fingers curled almost painfully into his shoulder as Derek went taut, moaning quietly as he arched up and came. His come was bitter and salty, and Stiles tried to swallow it down, but had some trouble, so most of it just ended up spilling from his lips and back onto Derek. He swallowed what he could and then lifted up, glancing around and grabbing Derek’s shirt. He wiped his mouth and hand, then slowly cleaned off Derek.

When he was finished, Stiles laid beside Derek, pressing as closely against him as he could and propped himself up on his hand. Derek still had his eyes closed and looked peaceful laying there, his face soft in the low light. After a few minutes, Derek opened his eyes and smiled contently.

“Was that okay?” Stiles asked.

“Do you even have to ask?” Derek reached around Stiles and started rubbing his back soothingly. “It was amazing.”

“No, you were amazing,”

Stiles said. “I…I can’t believe that you…” He couldn’t even say it. “I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

“Was it okay?” Derek asked. “I should have thought to ask. I just got carried away.”

“No, it was great. Surprising, that’s for sure.” Stiles grinned. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Put it on the list,” Derek said with a smile.

“We still need to make that thing.”

“Yep.” 

Stiles glanced beside them to where he saw a small jar of lubricant. He reached over Derek and picked up the jar. “When did you get this?”

Derek looked embarrassed. “I bought it, just in case. I wanted to be prepared for anything. I brought it in from the bathroom.”

“Hmm.” Stiles opened the jar and dipped his fingers inside the substance. “Can I use it on you later?”

“Are you ever satisfied?” Derek asked, bemused. 

“Yes,” Stiles said. “So, don’t be worried about your abilities. But I’m always thinking two steps ahead. Next, I’m doing what you did to me to you.”

“I like the sound of that.” Derek closed his eyes and tugged Stiles down towards him. “Come on, lay down with me. I want to lay with you until I have to take you home.”

Stiles didn’t have to be told twice. He put the lid back on the jar and set it aside before he snuggled against Derek. Derek started running his fingers through Stiles’ hair, and intertwined their fingers with his other hand.

“I think I won,” Stiles whispered, starting to get tired. 

“No, you didn’t.”

“I think I did,” Stiles said with a smile.

“We both won,” Derek said. 

“Can’t argue with that.” He felt Derek kiss his head. “But I still think I won.”

*

The next night, Derek picked Stiles up after his shift and took him out to the Hale property. He had meant to show it to him the day before, but with their fight, it hadn’t happened. First, Derek showed Stiles the remnants of his old house. Derek hadn’t been there in years, and although it pained him to be there, Derek knew it was good for him to face it. Stiles held his hand as they stared at the burnt-out shell in the moonlight.

Afterwards, they drove to the overlook point they had gone earlier in the week and kissed in the car for awhile. “I’m going to miss you,” Stiles said quietly when he finally pulled away. He pressed a kiss against Derek’s neck. “I feel like the moment I get used to you being in my life, you have to leave again. I’m in love with you, but I feel like I still barely know you.”

“That’s what letters are for,” Derek said, running his hand through Stiles’ hair. “I have a few things I need to tell you,” Derek started. “I leave in the morning.”

Stiles’ face fell. “The morning?” Derek could see Stiles working through it in his head. “It’s been a week already? It seems like you just got here.”

“I’m leaving early tomorrow.” 

Stiles sighed, his arms crossed over his chest. Derek reached over and covered his forearm with his hand. “Where are you going? Back to Fort Ord?”

“New York.”

“New York?” Stiles sputtered. “That’s on the other side of the country! For how long?”

Derek sighed and looked at Stiles sadly. He hated how the same sadness reflected in his beautiful eyes. “I don’t know. I’m stationed in New York until they decide to move troops over to Europe. Probably sometime early next year.”

Stiles nodded as he turned away, staring out of the passenger side window. Derek heard him sniffle quietly. “Europe,” Stiles finally said, voice quiet and wrecked. “You’re going to war.” No words Derek had felt appropriate. Everything sounded flippant in his head, so he slid his hand up Stiles’ bicep, over the ball of his shoulder, and placed his palm against Stiles’ neck. “I knew this was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier. So, you don’t know when we’ll see each other again.” Stiles finally tore his eyes away from the tree line. His eyes were damp. “Are we breaking up? Are we even together? Derek, I don’t even know.”

Derek scooted over on the bench seat and pulled Stiles’ into his arms. He kissed Stiles’ hair as he held him tightly. This, this felt right. Stiles in his arms, his warm breath against his neck. He couldn’t believe he only had a few fleeting moments left of this, and then it might be years before he held him again. If he even made it back from Europe.

“I’m yours,” Derek whispered against his hair. “Wherever on this earth I am, New York, Europe, Beacon Hills – I will always be yours.”

Stiles lifted his head and kissed Derek softly, just a gentle press of lips. Derek memorized the feel of Stiles’ plump, chapped lips against his, hoped he could carry it with him across oceans.

When Stiles pulled away, he has a look of resolution on his face. “You’re going away.” He paused, his eyes mapping every inch of Derek’s face. He lifted his hand and cupped Derek’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the stubble. “I’ll be counting down the days, then.”

Derek grabbed the back of Stiles’ head and crushed their mouths together desperately, not the soft, tentative presses from before. When they pulled apart, they were breathless.

“There’s something else,” Derek said. “I’m giving you the car. I have nowhere to keep it.” Derek wanted to say he had no one else in the world other than Stiles, but he didn’t. 

“Derek, I…” Stiles paused, just staring at him. “Okay. I’ll keep it for you until you return.”

Derek kissed Stiles again, hoping he would in fact return one day.

*

Derek dropped Stiles off half an hour later. Stiles slowly climbed the stairs, his shoulders slumped and feet dragging. Derek waited, not wanting to let Stiles out of his sight. When Stiles got to the top of the stairs, Stiles turned around. They stared at each other for a few long moments, and then Stiles lifted his hand to wave goodbye.

And Derek’s heart broke.

*

At four a.m., Derek gathered his things and checked out of the motel. His train left at 6:30, so he left the car in Stiles’ driveway and the keys in the mailbox, and then walked the short distance to the train station. The station was empty save the few employees. He sat on the platform, staring straight ahead as he waited.

Just after six, Derek heard footsteps and turned his head. Stiles walked towards him, looking wrecked in wrinkled clothes and with messy hair; he looked like he got as much sleep as Derek did.

Derek jumped to his feet in surprise. “Stiles, what are you doing here?”

“I’m so glad your train hasn’t left,” he said in exasperation as he threw his arms around Derek in a quick hug. “I thought I’d missed you.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Derek said as Stiles dropped onto the bench. He lowered himself beside him.

“Did you really think I was going to let you leave without seeing you off? Puh-leeze.” Stiles gave him a sleepy smile. They talked about inane things, like the weather and Stiles’ schoolwork for the week, as the clock ticked closer and closer to the departure time. 

Five minutes before the train was scheduled to arrive, Stiles pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Derek. Derek turned it over in hands, staring at it.

“Don’t open it until you’re on the train.”

Derek nodded and clutched it tightly in his hand. Then, his heart suddenly dropped to his feet. The unmistakable sound of the train rolling down the tracks thundered through the station. Stiles had a look of fear and pain on his face, and Derek wished he could reach out and touch him.

They just stared at each other and didn’t say a word as the train rolled into the station and slowed to a stop. There were a few other people down the platform, but they were mostly alone on this end. Stiles walked Derek to the train doors. 

“I don’t know how to say goodbye,” Stiles said, his eyes damp again.

“Then don’t.”

Stiles smiled. “Be safe.”

“You, too.” Derek glanced around, then reached out and squeezed Stiles’ arm, his fingers lingering. Stiles brushed his hand gently as he pulled away.

The warning bell sounded on the train, and Derek swallowed around the lump in his throat. By sheer force of will, he tore himself from the spot where he was standing and walked towards the train.

“Derek!” Stiles exclaimed as Derek stepped onto the train. Derek turned around in the doorway. “I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for you forever.”

Derek mouthed _I love you,_ and Stiles smiled through his tears and mouthed it back as Derek shut the door. He walked along the empty aisle to the first window and stuck his head out. Stiles was still standing on the platform, looking small and alone. 

When the train started moving, Derek’s chest hurt as his heart beat erratically. With each revolution of the wheel, Stiles grew smaller and smaller until he was only a tiny figure on the empty platform. He threw up his hand in a wave, and then he was gone.

Derek dropped into the seat, barely registering when the train attendant asked for his ticket. He didn’t know how long he sat there in a daze, the weight of Stiles’ absence and their increasing distance bearing down on him.

Finally, he remembered the envelope Stiles had given him. With shaking fingers, Derek pulled open the flap. The first thing inside was a photograph. The photo was cut in half and showed Stiles, with his arm around someone outside of the frame of the picture (Scott, Derek guessed), standing in the diner. The face was a bit fuzzy, but he could easily tell that Stiles was smiling and looked happy. Derek ran his thumb across Stiles’ face and smiled to himself. The second item in the envelope was a small strip of paper with the words _I love you_ written across it followed by the initials D.H. and S.S. in a heart.

Derek laughed as his emotions threatened to spill over and stared at the photograph until he could see it beneath his eyelids when he closed his eyes.

The train was loud as the wheels turned beneath him, carrying him closer to his fate and farther away from Stiles.


	4. Letters: October-December 1941

_October 16th, 1941  
Camp Upton_

_S –_

_I have arrived safely in New York. I have never been to New York before. Laura passed through here before she went to Europe. She wrote me about how much she loved the city, wanted to take me to Times Square when she returned. I’m currently stationed on Long Island. I saw the Atlantic Ocean for the first time yesterday. It looks almost the same, except the waves aren’t as large. There are some really nice beaches nearby, and I went out last night with a few of the other soldiers. It made me miss you, though._

_Everything makes me miss you._

_I’m really close to the city, but haven’t had a chance to go yet. There’s talk of us being able to go in a few weeks. I will tell you all about it when I go._

_I’m glad that you made me open that envelope when I was on the train. If you’d have been in front of me, I may never have been able to tear myself away from you. I have looked at that picture so many times since I left Beacon Hills. I cut it down so I could fit it and the slip of paper in my pocket. That way you’re always with me. I should have thought to leave something with you. I’ll try to send you something soon._

_This letter feels very formal, and I apologize. Would it sound bad if I told you my heart has been breaking ever since I left you? I just want to see you smile, to hear you laugh. I want to wake up with you buried against my side._

_I loved being with you again. I would not trade those days we spent together for anything in the world – except maybe the chance to be back with you._

_Tell me about school. I hope you’re doing well, and that Scott isn’t giving you too much trouble._

_I miss you.  
Derek_

*

**October 23rd, 1941**

**Derek,**

**I have been quite down since you’ve left. Things are just so…depressing. I keep thinking that it may be years before I see you again and…never mind. I won’t continue. I don’t want to upset you, too.**

**New York! Sounds wonderful. I can’t wait for you to tell me all about it. I will live vicariously through you. You should go to Times Square if you get the chance, for Laura.**

**I miss you more than you know. My dad keeps asking me what’s wrong, but I told him I have a cold I can’t quite get rid of. Your heart is breaking – mine is breaking, too. But if both our hearts continue to break, then what will we have left for each other? We should really do something about that. I am glad you liked the picture. It was the most recent I had. I couldn’t risk you ever forgetting me.**

**Once again, I don’t know what to say. Why are these letters so hard? When you’re in front of me, I can’t seem to shut up. It still makes me laugh to think about all the times at the diner when you told me to take a breath as I talked, and how you teased me about being afraid of silence. I had to talk though – you are too quiet! (Though, I wouldn’t have you any other way.) I like it when you talk, though. I love your voice.**

**Mrs. McCall misses you. She said that she wished that you could have stuck around to help out around the diner. Now, she expects me and Scott to do all these tasks around the diner like you did. I blame you for the fact that I was on a ladder the other day, with Scott holding it so I wouldn’t fall, as I changed the bulbs in the storeroom. I almost fell only three times! That’s pretty good for me.**

**Scott and I are fine. I skipped school the day you left (I couldn’t face that place. It’s still sometimes hard to face anything). Scott came over to check on me. I told him I thought he hated me and never wanted to see me again, but he told me that I was his best friend and he loved me. He told me he still didn’t understand, but that he would try. That’s the only thing that has gotten me through these past few weeks, Scott being there for me.**

**School is boring. I can’t seem to care. Lacrosse starts soon, though. I’ve started training with Scott, just in case.**

**I hope you’re well.  
S  
**  
*

_November 2nd, 1941  
Camp Upton_

_S –_

_Your letter made me sad. I can’t bear the thought of you being so upset, even if it’s the truth. I don’t know what to do. Maybe it will get easier. I tell myself it will get easier every day, but it doesn’t. I distract myself with things – training, preparations for shipping out. But at night, I just lie in my bunk and think about you. The guys in the barracks are going through similar things, so that helps. Just know that I think of you every chance that I get._

_I can’t believe you ever entertained the thought of me forgetting you. I have been doing a lot of thinking (there’s a lot of downtime here), and I realized that our love is incomplete. I love you, but it’s not whole, I only have bits of you, and every bit I have I love more than life itself. I do not have all the pieces of what makes you whole, but I eagerly await for the other pieces of you fall into place. With each piece that I discover, our love becomes stronger. I hope you will keep giving me pieces through our letters._

_I don’t know if you know it, Stiles, but my life changed the moment I walked into that diner._

_I love you, and I never meant to. I didn’t even mean to talk to you that day in the diner. But there was something about you, and after speaking to you once, I couldn’t stay away._

_I think perhaps spending that Saturday with you may have been the worst mistake of my life. But not in the way you will undoubtedly interpret it (because you still don’t understand your qualities)._

_Maybe I shouldn’t write letters to you so late – I get maudlin. Please excuse it._

_I cannot tell you how happy I am that you made up with Scott. I like him very much, and you don’t know how at ease I am knowing you have him. I’m so glad you have Melissa, Scott, and your father around you. I know they will always take care of you._

_Please be careful on the ladder! I do not want to open a letter where you reveal you’re in a cast because you’ve broken something! Tell Melissa I said hello. I miss her, too. I miss everyone in Beacon Hills. I was only there a week, but it started to feel like home again for the first time in a very long time._

_What did you do for Halloween? I hope you did something fun, something to make you smile._

_Please be happy, Stiles. Don’t dwell on the fact that we are apart. We will hopefully be together soon enough. Until then, enjoy yourself. For me?_

_I love you.  
Derek_

_*_

_November 4th, 1941_

_I’m standing in Times Square (it looks just like the photo on the front of this postcard!), writing this on a buddy’s back. I know why Laura loved this place – it’s loud and full of life like she was. If I close my eyes, I can hear her laughing beside me, telling me to “Loosen up, Der! It’s New York! Have some fun!” I miss her so much._  
  
*

**November 14th, 1941**

**Your letter made me both extremely happy and sad (I know, I’m sorry! I’m trying, I promise). And I got your postcard a day later! I’m so glad you went. I think Laura would be glad, too. I just hope you didn’t have too much fun in New York, if you know what I mean.**

**Derek, that night was the best night of my life.**

**I’m not sure what that says about me, but I hope it doesn’t lower your opinion of me. I never dreamed I would find someone like you. I cannot wait to discover every missing piece of you. I want to know every speck of you, and will spend the rest of my life trying to learn them if I can.**

**For Halloween, Scott and I went to town hall where they had a celebration. Lydia and Jackson were there, and the four of us sat together. Lydia and I bobbed for apples. Of course, she did it perfectly on the first try because Lydia is the most clever girl I’ve ever met. There is nothing she can’t do. I, on the other hand, never actually got an apple. Lydia finally had to reach in and hand it to me. Jackson made fun of me for it for the rest of the night, but I didn’t care. My dad and Mrs. McCall were also there, and we had smores and then we all walked to the theater. They showed _Dracula_ and _Frankenstein_ back to back. I have to admit, I got a little scared. I think Scott and I were more scared than Lydia.**

**What will you do for Thanksgiving? We always eat dinner with Scott and his mom, and this year we’re doing it at our house. Dad cooks the turkey, I make a few things, and Mrs. McCall brings everything worth eating. We don’t celebrate “Franksgiving”. Everyone in Beacon Hills has just kept with the fourth Thursday the last few years and not the third. How stupid is it to move Thanksgiving?**

**I love you,  
S  
**  
*

_November 24th, 1941  
Camp Upton_

_S –_

_You still haven’t celebrated Thanksgiving yet. We did so on the 20th. I went with a few buddies into New York to see the Macy’s parade. Stiles, I wish you could have been there. You would have loved it. I thought of you the entire time, thinking to myself every time I saw something, “Stiles would love that…and that…” There were so many people! Too many people for my liking (you know how I am). We were in the back, so we had a hard time seeing the floats. One of the guys I was with started talking to the families beside us, and I ended up holding a little boy up on my shoulders so he could see. He was so excited at everything that went by, especially when Santa came through._

_The balloons were huge. I couldn’t believe just how large they were. There was one in the shape of a fish that had fins that moved with the breeze. It looked like it was swimming through the air! I wish you could have seen it._

_When we got back on base, we had a full dinner. I don’t really celebrate Thanksgiving. I always eat the dinner on base, but it’s such a sad holiday. I miss my family too much. We always used to have huge Thanksgiving dinners. My mom, grandmother, and aunts would spend two days cooking. I can’t begin to describe the smells or the way the food tasted. We’d have over twenty people packed around the table, and then we’d sit around the radio afterwards while we ate dessert._

_Your Halloween sounds great. I wish I could have been there with you, laughing as you bobbed for apples and then holding your hand while we watched scary movies in the dark. I have not seen either of those films. I don’t go to the cinema. A lot of the guys on base go, but I don’t join them. I mostly sit around and read. I’ve read quite a few books since I’ve gotten here._

_Stiles, how could what you said lower my opinion about you? It was the best night of my life, too. I never thought I could feel what I felt that night with another person. The memory of it has kept me going on some of the worst days. I can’t tell you what it does to me that you feel the same way._

_It’s cold here. The wind coming off the water is freezing, and they predict a cold winter. Running ten miles in this is very difficult. But the cold weather makes me wish I was huddled with you in front of the fire under a blanket. I walked to the ocean the other night and thought about that day we spent at the beach. That night, there were so many stars and the moon was full and bright in the sky. My arms ached to be around you, and I missed you so much I couldn’t stand it._

_Derek_  
  
*

**December 5th, 1941**

**Derek,**

**I can’t believe you went to the Macy’s parade! I’m so jealous. I’ve always wanted to go. I used to listen to the parade on the radio with my mother every Thanksgiving day. We never listen to it anymore, though. Maybe we can go together one year. I think we should make a list of things to do after the war. Fireworks, the parade, watching scary movies, standing on the beach under the full moon.**

**(Wasn’t there another list we were supposed to make? I think we may have checked some things off, but you said you wrote down 50 things…my brain still only goes five or six past what we’ve done…)**

**I reread that one paragraph in your last letter over and over and cannot believe that night meant as much to you as to me. I guess I’ve never let myself believe that I was more to you than a convenient distraction. I believe I’m starting to understand that your feelings are like mine. It’s hard to realize something so wonderful is true, that someone as wonderful as you loves me.**

**Thanksgiving is sad for us, too. We miss my mom so much around the holidays. It’s the worst time of year. She loved the holidays. It’s easier with Mrs. McCall and Scott around, but it’s still not the same. She was the most phenomenal cook. Her dressing was to die for. I would give anything to eat it again. And she made the best fruitcake. It’s an old family recipe, passed down through generations. I’m still trying to perfect it.**

**Dad and I cut down our Christmas tree the other day. We went into the woods in the preserve and found the perfect tree. That’s our tradition. We came back and decorated it while drinking hot cocoa and listening to Glen Miller’s Christmas record.**

**Lydia helped me bake Christmas cookies for you. She doesn’t think it’s weird that I send you things like cookies and fudge in the mail. I think she may suspect that we’re more than friends, but she hasn’t said anything. Maybe I’m being paranoid. I’ve included a tin of the different cookies we made – there’s chocolate chip, peanut butter, lemon, gingerbread, and snickerdoodles. I also included something small for you to hang by your bed for Christmas. I hope you like it.**

**The holidays make me miss you so much. It’s started snowing here, just a little bit, and I wish we could walk in it hand in hand. I’d love to see you with snowflakes caught in your dark hair. I bet you’d be so cute.**

**I love you.  
S**

*****

**December 7th, 1941**

**I’ve been glued to the radio all day. What happened…it’s so horrible. I know you’re okay, but I can’t help but worry about what it means for you.**

**I love you so much. So very very much.  
**  
*

_December 8th, 1941  
Camp Upton_

_S –_

_I haven’t received a return letter, but I knew you’d be worried. We’re fine, obviously, but things are changing fast. I’m shipping out much sooner than originally planned, now sometime near the end of January. But I’m okay. I hope you are, too._

_I love you,  
Derek_

_*_

_December 17th, 1941  
Camp Upton_

_S –_

_Your package was such an unexpected surprise (and much needed during this extremely difficult time). The cookies are wonderful – I have eaten too many of them. I just keep thinking that you made them, you touched them, and it makes me smile. I have not shared them with anyone. I learned my lesson with the fudge. I’m glad that Lydia and you are doing things together. I can’t wait to meet her one day._

_The ornament you made for me is hanging by my bed. I don’t have a tree (there are a few scattered around the base), but an ornament from you is better than an entire tree._

_There are now two lists for us to make. I like the idea of both. It gives us something to look forward to. We will cross everything off those lists, I promise._

_You’re an idiot if you don’t realize I’m ridiculously in love with you. Never doubt my feelings. Never._

_I love hearing your Christmas traditions. Christmas, like Thanksgiving, hasn’t been the same since the fire. This is the first year that I have hope I will have good Christmases again. I have an image of you and me putting up a tree, exchanging gifts, and even baking together. That’s silly and romantic, isn’t it?_

_I have a few days leave for New Years. I know this is wishful thinking and a long shot, but wouldn’t it be wonderful I could kiss you on New Year’s Eve at midnight? Can you imagine being together on New Year’s Eve in Times Square? I bet there’d be fireworks. I’d give anything to see you once more before I go to Europe. (I’m including the hotel information, just in case. A man can hope, right?)_

_I hope you and your father have a wonderful Christmas._

_All my love,_  
Derek  



	5. New Year's Eve 1941

Stiles walked to the mailbox in anticipation. Any day now, he expected another letter from Derek. He’d received the letter Derek sent after Pearl Harbor a week ago, but he’d still been worried about him, especially now that he was shipping out so much sooner. But Stiles didn’t let himself think about that too much.

When he pulled open the door to the mailbox, he grabbed the stack of envelopes and smiled widely when he saw Derek’s small, tidy handwriting sticking out near the back. He rushed onto the porch and sat on the swing, paying no attention to the cold. He ripped the paper and read it, forcing himself to go slowly and not just skim. It didn’t work, but he knew he’d reread a hundred times again anyway.

Stiles’ eyes stopped at the last paragraph. He read it over multiple times, his heart pounding. 

He could see Derek. He could see Derek again before he shipped out.

There was nothing in this world that would keep him from going to New York.

Stiles ran inside the house, wrapped himself in his coat, scarf, and hat, before leaving again, letter in his pocket. He ran the length of the two streets until he got to Scott’s house. He didn’t bother knocking, just let himself in, screaming, “Scott!”

“What?” Scott asked. He was in the small living room, listening to the radio.

“I got a letter from Derek.”

“Okay, you’ve gotten those before. I don’t see what the big deal is…” Scott looked at Stiles like he was crazy as Stiles dropped onto the couch and unwrapped all his layers. 

“He’s going on leave,” Stiles said as he dug the letter from his pocket. “Around New Year’s. He wants me to meet him in New York.” Stiles grinned, barely able to contain his excitement.

“New York?” Scott exclaimed. “That’s on the other side of the country!” 

“I’m aware of that, Scott,” Stiles said defensively. “I have to go see him.”

“Are you insane? Your father will never let you go.”

“Derek is shipping out to Europe in a month, and then I don’t know…” Stiles shook his head, stopping those thoughts. He took a deep breath. “I have one last chance to see him before he goes to war. I have to do this.”

“And how exactly do you plan on doing this?” 

“I don’t know. I’ll figure out something.” 

Scott sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. I’ll go with you to New York. But only because I don’t want anything to happen to you between here and there, okay?”

Stiles grinned widely. Scott was seriously the best friend ever.

*

Stiles and his dad spent a quiet Christmas together, exchanging a few gifts and eating Stiles’ attempt at his mother’s fruitcake. It was almost perfect this year, and he cut off a few pieces to take to Derek. 

Two days after Christmas, Stiles had his bags packed. His dad thought that he and Scott were going up to Yosemite for the week to celebrate New Year’s. Even that had taken some convincing.

“I don’t want you going away,” his father said. “The country’s under attack!”

“The Japanese aren’t going to bomb Yosemite,” Stiles argued. 

“No one thought they’d bomb Hawaii.” 

Stiles had used every excuse he could think of, every ploy, and finally just said, “I’m an adult, Dad. If I’m old enough to serve my country, I’m old enough to spend New Year’s with Scott somewhere!” His dad had finally relented. But it didn’t matter. He was going to get on that train whether or not his dad had said he could go. He just preferred his blessing. Helped balance out the lies. And this was the biggest lie Stiles had ever told in his life.

He waited for Scott on the train platform, two tickets for sleeper cars in his coat pocket. He bought Scott’s ticket as a thank you for going with him and basically being the bestest friend in the world. He thought it was only fair since Scott was also lying to his mom and going all the way across the country with him.

Stiles waved when he saw Scott walk onto the platform, and then froze when he spotted Allison beside him. And Lydia.

“Scott?” Stiles asked, pointing to the two of them.

Lydia brushed past him and handed her three suitcases to the porter. “Scott told Allison you two were going to New York for New Year’s, and she told me, and I was _not_ staying in Beacon Hills – or even going to Jackson’s parents’ cabin on the lake with him like he asked – if you three were going to New York.” She flipped her hair with a gloved hand, a hat covering her head. “I am going to spend New Year’s Eve in Times Square.” She spun around on her heel and swept into the train.

Stiles turned around and glared at Scott. “Lydia? Do you know…how did…what?”

Allison put a hand on Stiles’ sleeve. “My dad thinks I’m going away with Lydia and Jackson. Lydia told Jackson if he didn’t go along with her plan, she wouldn’t be his steady anymore and would give him his pin back.”

“This is a terrible idea,” Stiles grumbled as he boarded the train. Lydia had purchased the tickets for her and Allison, so they were in a sleeper car next to Scott and him. But somehow, that turned into Scott and Allison sharing a car while Stiles shared with Lydia. 

Stiles lay back on the top bunk and stared at the ceiling as Lydia complained below him about the small space.

“Three days cooped up like this,” Lydia huffed, and it sounded like she was dragging her suitcase around the floor. “Should have gotten a bigger car, but no, Allison said we should stick together. Last time I’m ever listening to Allison.”

“You didn’t have to come,” Stiles said from above. “I’m sure you can get a return train home at the next station.”

“Stiles, I am going to New York.” She stomped her foot in frustration and then opened the door. “I’m going to the dining car.”

Stiles turned on to his side and pulled out a couple of Derek’s letters and reread them for the millionth time. The letters were soft at the creases, Derek’s handwriting barely legible in places. The edges were frayed, and Stiles could see places where he’d spilled things from the diner on them. He couldn’t believe that he was going to see Derek soon, hoped the hotel information had been correct. 

Derek didn’t even know he was coming. Stiles worried that something might have changed, that Derek’s leave changed. Or what if he’d found someone else to spend New Year’s with. What if Stiles found Derek with someone else?

No. That would never happen. In Derek’s last letter, he wrote, _You’re an idiot if you don’t realize I’m ridiculously in love with you. Never doubt my feelings._ And what was Stiles doing? Doubting his feelings. But sometimes it was still so much to process, and two more months had passed since the last time he saw Derek. And after he shipped off to Europe…there was no telling how long it’d be.

Stiles fell asleep with Derek’s letters clutched in his hand, and woke up when he heard Lydia coming back into the room. Stiles walked around the train, talked with Scott, and ended up playing cards in one of the lounge cars with Scott, Allison, and Lydia until late, when they all decided to retire.

Stiles looked at the tiny sleeper car, and then at Lydia sitting primly on her bed. “Is this proper? I mean, I’m not threatening your virtue by sharing this car with you?” he asked.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Who’s going to find out? Besides, I trust that you have nothing but the noblest intentions for me. Otherwise, I would not be sleeping in the same room as you.”

The train ride went by more quickly than Stiles expected. He spent a lot of time watching the changing landscape of America as they passed through mountains and plains as they entered each new state. Stiles never thought he would get out of Beacon Hills and see anything, but here he was, seeing all of America on his way to New York. He smiled to himself that the reason any of this was happening was Derek. 

His whole life changed because of Derek.

Stiles came to really respect and like Allison and Lydia over the three day journey. Although he was still curious why they hadn’t asked about the reason for their New York journey and hoped they wouldn’t find out about Derek, he was really glad they had come along. He had fun talking and playing cards with them, and realized by the third day that they were his _friends_. He finally had friends.

The last night, Stiles couldn’t sleep. He was too anxious about seeing Derek. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, Lydia finally said, “Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you nervous about seeing Derek?” Stiles stopped moving and started panicking. She knew, which meant Allison knew, which meant – “Stiles, calm down. I’ve known all along.”

Stiles popped his head over the side of the bed and looked down at Lydia, lying on her side in the bed below. “How?”

“You sent him fudge, Stiles. I’m not an idiot.”

Stiles felt his cheeks color, and he was glad she couldn’t see in the dark car. “You don’t think it’s wrong? You’re not revolted? Scott was.”

“I don’t care who you love and what you do with them.” 

All the blood had rushed to Stiles’ head, so he climbed down off the bed and sat on the end of Lydia’s. “Really?” He could see her smile even in the dark. 

“Why are you nervous?”

Stiles shrugged. “He’s leaving for Europe in a few weeks. What if…” Stiles took a deep breath and said the words he’d been avoiding. “What if he dies?”

“You can’t think like that,” she said. “It’ll drive you mad.”

“I love him, Lydia.”

“I know. I figured that out when we made Christmas cookies.” She patted Stiles’ leg lightly. “You weren’t very subtle with me. You spent half an hour rambling about his trip to New York and something about his dead sister.” Stiles covered his face and groaned into his hands. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

“I’m glad we became friends,” he said. “I used to be too scared to talk to you, and look at us now. Who would have thought?” Stiles glanced at the wall towards Scott and Allison’s room. “What do you think they’re doing?”

“Nothing too racy,” Lydia said. “You know Scott wants to make an honest woman out of her first, and I know Allison is waiting for him to ask.”

“Have you and Jackson – “

“Stiles Stilinski!” Lydia exclaimed. “How dare you question a lady’s virtue?”

“I would like to point out that we are in our pajamas, in the same bed, in a sleeper car, on a train headed to New York, where I am meeting the soldier I’m in love with, who is a man. I do not think asking about you and Jackson is even close to the most risqué thing that is happening here.”

Lydia laughed quietly. “Jackson is not getting these goods until there is at least a two-carat diamond on my finger and I have a large, expensive wedding. But I did let him slip his hand under my shirt for Christmas. But just on top of my brassiere. Nothing under it until there’s a ring on my finger.” Stiles laughed. “Have you and Derek…”

“I threw any sense of propriety out the window when I kissed him. Seemed kinda pointless to wait at that point.” He picked at the blanket. 

“I hope things work out for you,” Lydia said. “I hope you two are happy.”

“Thanks. I hope you and Jackson are, too.” 

This time last year, he’d been in love with Lydia; now, he meant what he said.

*

Stiles checked his reflection in the mirror again. He was wearing a new plaid shirt his dad had bought him for Christmas, along with his new pants. He wished he looked better, because he knew Derek looked gorgeous no matter what.

“You’re fine,” Lydia said as she appeared in the bathroom door behind him. “Derek won’t care what you look like when you show up.” She grabbed his arm and tugged him into the car, where all their luggage was repacked and awaiting the porter. “Come on, we’ll be in the station in a few minutes.”

Stiles grabbed his suitcase and walked into the corridor to find Scott and Allison while Lydia found someone to deal with her luggage. They were sitting in the lounge car with their bags.

“Stiles, you look like you’re going to vomit,” Scott said.

“I think I’m going to vomit,” he replied. 

Allison reached forward and put a comforting hand on his arm. “It’ll be fine. Have fun, and we’ll see you in a few days.”

“Are you excited about being in New York?” Stiles asked to distract himself.

They both nodded. “We’re going to see all the tourist attractions, and Lydia’s making us go to Times Square tonight for the ball drop!” Scott said excitedly.

“Will you join us?” Allison asked.

Stiles felt himself blush. “Probably not.”

Allison giggled and Scott looked slightly uncomfortable, but then the train slowed to a halt. Stiles felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. He took a stabilizing breath, and grabbed his small suitcase as he headed for the door.

Outside the station, he hugged Scott, Allison, and Lydia and hailed a cab. He gave the driver the hotel address and settled in the backseat. 

The city was _huge_. Enormous. The largest, most overwhelming thing Stiles had ever seen. The buildings were so tall around him that he couldn’t see the tops without craning his neck out of the window of the cab. There were more people on one street corner than in the entire city of Beacon Hills. 

“Is it always like this?” Stiles asked the driver as they idled in traffic. 

“It’s worse today,” he replied, “cause everybody’s going to Times Square. You going?”

“No,” Stiles said.

“You mean you gonna be in New York on New Year’s Eve and not see the ball drop? What’s important enough to miss it?”

Stiles smiled to himself. “I’m meeting someone.”

“Ah, meeting a sweetheart. Good reason.” The traffic started moving again, and Stiles looked around in awe at the number of cars jammed on the streets. He’d never seen so many cars in his life. “It’s a big ‘un this year, the ball drop. Cause the country’s at war, lots of people need cause for celebratin’, you know.”

It took over an hour to reach Derek’s hotel. On their way from the train station, they drove near Times Square, and even a few blocks away, people were crowded into dense groups. Derek’s hotel was far enough away from Times Square that less people were crowded on the streets. Still, even in a slightly run down district full of hotels, people were gathered on the streets, singing, dancing, and playing music. Across the street from Derek’s hotel was a block of restaurants, and they were all packed, the patios and sidewalks filled with people already celebrating. And it was just after noon.

Stiles paid the driver, and stood looking up at the hotel nervously. Every fear and doubt flittered through his brain, but then he heard the cabbie behind him yell, “Hey mister! Don’t keep your girl waiting!” Stiles glanced around as a couple got into the cab he’d just vacated, and the driver pulled away from the curb with a flick of his hand.

Stiles entered the hotel, a plain, unassuming place with fifteen floors of tiny rooms coming off of narrow hallways. Stiles took the elevator to the twelfth floor, the mechanical creak and whine of the elevator loud in the small space, his stomach lurching as he slowly passed floor after floor.

He pulled the iron gate aside when the elevator stopped, then pushed the door open. The hallway was long, dark, and silent, and he glanced at the room numbers as he passed by. Around the corner at the end of the hall, he found Derek’s room. He raised his hand to knock, his heart pounding in his chest. Quickly, he rapped his knuckles on it three times.

The door opened moments later, and Stiles’ entire body started trembling as his face melted into a smile. Derek stood on the other side, shocked.

“Hi.”

*

Derek couldn’t believe his eyes. When he’d written that last letter, he’d been caught up in a fantasy, in his own empty hope that he could see Stiles again before he shipped out, had been lonely and sad and scared because of everything that had happened.

He never actually believed it would be a reality.

“Can I come in?” Stiles asked uncertainly, and the sound of his voice kick started his brain again. Derek moved aside as Stiles stepped inside the room. He immediately took Stiles’ suitcase as he closed the door. As soon as the lock was in place, Stiles slid his arms around Derek’s waist and buried his face in his neck. Derek dropped the suitcase to the floor forgotten, and wrapped Stiles in a tight embrace.

“You’re here,” Derek murmured against Stiles’ hair. He just closed his eyes and inhaled as the soft strands rubbed against his face.

“Of course I’m here,” Stiles said, pulling away. He cupped Derek’s face between his hands and looked at him. “Nothing was going to keep me away from you.”

Without loosening his arms around Stiles, Derek walked backwards towards the bed, not taking his eyes off Stiles’ beautiful face. That was there, in front of him. When the back of his legs hit the bed, he fell backwards, pulling Stiles on top of him. Stiles laughed, and it was the most glorious sound in the world. Derek leaned up and kissed him, feeling like he was whole again. He felt Stiles’ lips from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, and he just pulled him closer because they weren’t close enough.

“I missed you,” Derek breathed against Stiles’ mouth when they parted. “I missed you more than anything.”

“Well, I’m here now,” Stiles said, crossing his arms on Derek’s chest and resting his chin on his hands. 

“How did you get here? What did you tell your dad?” Derek asked, unable to stop touching Stiles. Maybe if he kept touching him, he’d never leave again.

“He thinks Scott and I are spending New Year’s in Yosemite.” Stiles grinned, but Derek could see the guilt underneath it. He reached out and ran a hand through Stiles’ hair.

“So, what’s Scott doing so your dad doesn’t see him?”

Stiles laughed. “He’s in Times Square with Allison and Lydia. They came with me.”

“What?” Derek exclaimed. 

“Lydia said she knew I was in love with you because I made you fudge and cookies.”

Derek groaned and ran a hand over his face. “Well, at least you didn’t travel three days alone.”

“So,” Stiles said, sitting up on Derek’s lap. “What are we going to do? I can stay a few days and still make it back to school for the next quarter.”

Derek sighed and pushed himself up. Stiles’ hands reached out and started messing with the collar of his shirt, his fingers dragging across Derek’s skin. Derek closed his eyes for a moment as Stiles rubbed his thumb along the side of his neck. 

“Things have changed,” Derek said finally, opening his eyes. Stiles stared at him, the apprehension obvious on his face. “I ship out tomorrow. I have to report to the harbor at 0900.”

“Well,” Stiles said with a brave smile, though Derek could see the sadness underneath it. “We better not waste any time then.”

*

“Where are you going?” Stiles asked later, the sheets tangled around their bodies. Derek held Stiles in his arms, the setting sun shining in through the open windows. The cold winter afternoon air cooled their sweaty, sticky skin. “When you ship out. Can you tell me?”

“France,” Derek said, his fingernails scratching lightly against Stiles’ soft back. He tried to commit every moment to his memory, each touch and sound so he could carry it with him overseas. “I don’t know exactly where yet. I may eventually end up in Italy or Germany.”

“Hey, maybe you’ll get to see Paris.” Stiles pulled away and looked at Derek. “You can describe the Eiffel Tower to me.”

“I don’t think I’ll have a lot of time to sightsee,” Derek said. 

“You never know,” Stiles said with a smile. “What will you be doing? I don’t even know what you do.”

Derek reached out and brushed the back of his fingers against the side of Stiles’ face. “I’ve never been to war, Stiles. I’m not sure exactly.”

“You’ll have to kill people,” Stiles said quietly. “Have you killed anyone yet?” Derek shook his head. Stiles placed his hand on Derek’s bare chest, over his heart. “You’ll still be my Derek, no matter how many people you kill.”

Derek kissed him, then threaded their fingers together. “I got a promotion. I forgot to tell you.”

“Derek!” Stiles slapped his chest. “Why did you forget? What other things are you forgetting to tell me?” He smiled happily. “I’m so proud of you! That’s so amazing!”

Derek grinned despite himself. “It’s not a big deal, really. I’m a sergeant now, which means when I get over to Europe, I’ll be assigned a fireteam and be the team leader.”

“Sergeant Derek Hale,” Stiles said. “Sounds sexy.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “No, it doesn’t. It’s really not that impressive. It’s the lowest commander position possible.”

“I don’t care,” Stiles said. “I think it’s sexy and I’m proud of you. I don’t care if you never become a general. How long would that take?”

“Twenty years or more.”

Stiles scrunched his face. “Too long.”

“That was always my goal,” Derek said. “To become a general.”

“Now what do you want?” Stiles asked.

“To make it through the war and come home to you,” Derek said simply. Stiles turned his face to the side, and Derek reached out and tugged it back towards him. Stiles’ eyes were damp. “Why are you sad?”

Stiles just looked at him and shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t say it.”

Derek pulled Stiles into his lap and laced his fingers against the small of Stiles’ back. “Don’t think like that.”

“What if…” Stiles said, his eyes cast downward. “What if I never see you again after tomorrow? I can’t – “ Stiles shook his head and looked up at Derek. “I’m not going to do this. Not now. I’m not going to waste our time together. I’ll have time to think about this later.”

Derek held Stiles’ face between his hands. “I will do everything I can to come back to you,” Derek said. 

“And I’ll still wait for you,” Stiles said. 

*

“Derek, look!” Stiles stood by the window, his naked body bathed in the pale light from surrounding buildings. It made his skin look ethereal, like something that wasn’t real. Derek walked across the room, and ran his hands over Stiles’ skin and nosed along his hairline. “There are people dancing in the street. Some of the kids are setting off fireworks!”

“Mmmhmm,” Derek hummed against Stiles’ neck. 

“Are you paying attention?” Stiles hit his arm out behind him, managing to connect with Derek’s arm.

“Not really.” Derek trailed his lips lightly against the shell of Stiles’ ear, felt the way it made Stiles shudder beneath his mouth.

“How can you not look at this?” Stiles asked. Derek rested his hands on Stiles’ thin hips as Stiles rambled about the activities on the street below.

“There’s only one thing I want to focus on, and that’s you,” Derek said, pulling Stiles flush against him. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Got anybody special in mind you’d like to kiss?” Stiles asked as he leaned back against Derek.

“Not really. Might just grab the first person I see.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m the only one here,” Stiles said with a grin. He turned his face and kissed Derek over his shoulder. Then, he got distracted again. “Do you hear that?”

Down below, the crowd of people was chanting, counting down towards midnight. “Ten, nine, eight,” the crowd yelled, and Stiles shifted in Derek’s arms. “Three, two, one! HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Derek leaned in and kissed Stiles fiercely, gripping at his arms and head. 

When they pulled away, Derek whispered, “Happy New Year, Stiles.” Stiles gave him a small, private smile, and then looked behind him when they heard a whistle and then loud boom behind them. 

“Fireworks!” Stiles twisted in Derek’s arms, flailing in excitement as they watched the explosions of pink, green, and gold against the night sky. Stiles leaned into him as he watched the show. “These are the best fireworks I’ve ever seen! So much larger than at home.” Derek wasn’t watching the fireworks; he was entranced by Stiles’ face. He was excited and positively gleeful, with his mouth spread into a wide grin. The colors danced in his eyes, small explosions of gold and red reflected in honey brown.

“I think this is a good sign,” Stiles said in the middle of the show, “we’re making the fireworks a memory.”

“One less thing off that list,” Derek said, dropping a kiss on Stiles’ temple. 

After the fireworks were over and they were sitting back on the bed, Derek said, “There’s one other thing I’d like to scratch off that list.”

“What?” 

Derek looked at Stiles nervously, wasn’t sure exactly how to phrase what he wanted. Finally, he said, “I want to make love to you. I want to be inside you one time before I go to war.”

Stiles looked him for a few moments while Derek barely breathed, and then said, “I want the same thing.”

Relief washed over Derek, and he couldn’t contain his happiness as he pulled Stiles close and kissed him. They rolled around on the bed, kissing and touching, until Derek was panting and shaking with need. “Are you sure about this?” Derek asked, pausing to get his wits about him. He was lying on top of Stiles, and Stiles was looking up at him with eyes so bright with love and lust and emotion that it made Derek’s head spin. “Because this is different from what we’ve done.”

Stiles threaded his fingers in Derek’s hair. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my entire life.”

“I love you so much,” Derek said, leaning down and recapturing Stiles’ mouth. 

Derek grabbed the lubricant off the bedside table and arranged a pillow under Stiles’ hips as Stiles rolled over. He kissed his way from the base of Stiles’ neck all the way down his back, finally peppering kisses over the globes of Stiles’ ass. 

“Your stubble tickles,” Stiles giggled, so Derek turned his face and rubbed his stubble over his pale skin. Derek took his time preparing Stiles, first one finger gently inserted and sliding in and out as his body adjusted. “Feels weird,” Stiles said, a bit breathless, “but it feels really good.”

“You feel good,” Derek said, his eyes transfixed on the way Stiles expanded and contracted around him as he added another finger. This felt more intimate than anything he’d ever done, more intimate than the few times he’d had sex with Kate. Being inside Stiles was different than being inside Kate and the other woman; with both women, it had been perfunctory as Derek went through the motions. But now, it was like he was connected to Stiles, that he could feel every heartbeat, every hitch of his breath, every soft noise that escaped from his lips. “Does it hurt?” Derek asked as he twisted his fingers slowly around inside Stiles.

“A little, but it’s not bad.”

“Are you ready?” 

Stiles glanced over his shoulder, a lovely pink flush spreading over his cheeks and chest. “Yes.” Stiles watched as Derek slicked his cock, and then Derek draped himself over Stiles’ back as he nudged his opening gently. 

“Last chance to turn back,” Derek murmured against his back. The thought of stopping right now when he was so close made him ache, but he had taken so much from Stiles already, he had to make sure Stiles was sure.

“Stop trying to get me to change my mind.” Stiles reached behind him, slid his fingers into Derek’s hair, and pulled his face forward. He kissed him deeply as Derek pushed his hips forward, past the tight ring of muscle. Stiles tensed and cried out into Derek’s mouth.

“Are you okay?” Derek paused, and Stiles nodded his head. 

“Fine. It just hurts. But please, don’t stop.” Derek kissed him again as he continued pushing forward, and buried himself deep inside Stiles.

It was the most overwhelming feeling he’d ever experienced. 

His arms shook where he held himself up, and he felt Stiles trembling beneath him. “Oh,” was all Derek managed to get out. He felt like he was drowning in Stiles, because he was everywhere – filled all Derek’s senses completely until the only thing he smelled, heard, saw, felt, and tasted was Stiles. Stiles was so tight around him, so hot and soft and _perfect_.

“Derek?” Stiles asked. “Are you okay?” His hand was rubbing lightly along Derek’s quivering arm, and Derek pressed a kiss against his temple.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured as he slid out and thrust back in, and the _sound_ Stiles made, a soft exhalation and moan, rearranged everything inside of him until he felt like a new man. His chest threatened to explode, and he wanted to scream _I love you_ , etch it into Stiles’ skin with his touches, but no words even began to express how Derek felt. 

They fell into a steady rhythm as Derek thrust into Stiles, filling him again and again, never wanting to pull out and be apart from him. Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing had felt like _home_ in ages. They fit together perfectly, Stiles’ body molding to Derek’s like they were two puzzle pieces meant to slot into place.

The bed creaked under them, and the headboard hit the wall with a dull, constant thump. Derek focused on the way Stiles breathed, the way he clenched and relaxed around him, the way his skin was like fire underneath his touch. 

“Derek,” Stiles’ voice cracked, and Derek reached out and covered Stiles’ hand braced against the bed, curling his fingers between Stiles’. “Please,” Stiles begged, his voice thin and wrecked, “I’m so close.”

Derek reached around with his free hand and wrapped his fingers around Stiles’ hard cock. Stiles let out a loud strangled sound, a kind of moan-whine-scream, and contracted so tightly around Derek that he moaned against his neck. He couldn’t believe this was real, that he was buried inside Stiles, that Stiles let him do this, had wanted to feel Derek inside of him as much as Derek wanted to be inside him. 

“Derek,” Stiles moaned again, his forehead resting on his arm, his other hand gripping Derek’s tightly. The sound of his name from Stiles’ lips while Stiles was tight around him was too much. Derek bit into the flesh of Stiles’ shoulder as he gripped his hip, pounding into him as his orgasm built and then pushed him over the edge, and he was falling, falling into Stiles. 

When Derek became aware of his surroundings again, he was collapsed on top of Stiles, still buried deep inside him, and Stiles was hot and tight and Derek never wanted to be anywhere else. He’d found heaven, and it was right here.

“Derek? You okay?” Stiles asked, his arm angled behind him so he could scratch his nails across Derek’s hip.

“Stiles,” Derek said, his voice hoarse. “That was…I…”

“I’m that good, huh?” Stiles joked. “Mind if we finish things for me?”

Derek dragged his lips across the back of Stiles’ neck, open-mouth presses against his skin as he rolled them to his side. He made an experimental thrust, but he was too sensitive for that, so he kept his softening cock buried inside Stiles while he wrapped his fingers around his shaft and brought him off. Stiles contracted around him, and Derek moaned, little bursts of sensations along his nerves as Stiles moaned loudly and came over his hand. 

Afterwards, they stayed like that, twined together, Derek never wanting to separate from Stiles, but it soon got to be uncomfortable. Derek reluctantly pulled out of Stiles and they cleaned themselves off quickly in the bathroom before returning to the bed.

“That was…” Stiles shook his head as he kissed Derek. “The most amazing thing in the world.”

“I love you so much,” Derek said, running his hands all over Stiles’ body. He dragged his finger from mole to mole, connecting the dots across Stiles’ skin. He wanted to memorize every spot, every unique thing about Stiles’ body. “So fucking much.”

“I have something for you,” Stiles said suddenly as he got out of bed and went over to his suitcase. He brought two things over to the bed. The first was a tin he pushed into Derek’s hands. “I made my mother’s fruitcake, and I saved you some. I also made you more fudge.” Derek smiled, and then Stiles hid something behind his back and grabbed Derek’s hand. He placed a small, stuffed wolf into his palm. The one he won for Stiles that first night at the fair. Derek looked up at Stiles, full of emotion. “So you will remember me.”

“No,” Derek said, giving it back to Stiles. “I won it for you. You keep it for me until I return. Let it remind you of me.” 

Stiles held the small wolf in his hand tightly as he nodded. “I love you,” Stiles said. “I don’t know how I’m going to say goodbye.”

“Don’t, just yet. We still have a few hours.” 

Derek held Stiles until the sun came up, until he finally had to let him go.


	6. 1942-1944

_  
January 24th, 1942_

_S –_

_Have arrived safely and settled. I’ve included the address for the APO where you can send your letters. I’m sorry for the delay in writing you. It took awhile to reach our camp, and I cannot tell you exactly where I am. It is beautiful, though. I cannot wait to tell you all about it one day._

_It’s been almost a month since I’ve seen you, and I can still feel your touch like it was yesterday._

_I met my team today. Isaac Lahey, a quiet boy from Kansas who is good with a gun, Ethan Jones from Texas, and Vernon Boyd, a black boy from Alabama no one wanted on their team, so I took him. I don’t give a damn what color someone is as long as he’s got my back. Boyd is a great guy from what I can tell so far, and I’d rather have him than half the other guys. The platoon is full of men from all over the country, and I got to know some of them on the journey over here. But you know me, I spent most of my time reading._

_I miss you so much._

_Derek_

*

**  
February 10th, 1942**

**Derek,**

**I’ve been dying to hear from you. Scott keeps teasing me about camping out by the mailbox and harassing the postman. I haven’t done either of those things, though I have considered it. I’m so glad you arrived safely.**

**I have thought about New York every day since then. Derek, I can’t even begin to describe what it meant to me. Just…I have never felt like that before. I want to feel like that every day for the rest of my life. I hope this war is over soon so we can be together.**

**I barely even remember the train ride home. I was on cloud nine and could still feel you on my skin every time I moved, but I was also in the most pain I’ve ever felt because I knew you were leaving. My heart was breaking. Lydia has been extra nice to me since then. I think travelling together made us bond; the same for Allison. So now, in addition to Scott, they are my friends.**

**I’m glad you like your team, and I’m proud that you chose Boyd as one of your men. You’re an amazing man. I can’t wait to get to know them through your letters.**

**School has been fine. I graduate soon, and I’m trying to decide what to do afterwards. Scott is going to try to join the army. I thought about going to college, but it costs a lot of money and I don’t want to leave my dad. I thought about working at the sheriff’s station. I don’t know. What do you think?**

**We started lacrosse back in January. I have gotten better, but I still think I’ll probably warm the bench all season.**

**Valentine’s Day is in a few days. I’ve included some cookies for you (I hope they stay fresh enough to eat!), and a book. I hope you like it. I do know how much you love to read.**

**I love you.  
** S  


*

_  
March 1st, 1942_

_S –_

_We walked for twenty-five miles yesterday. My feet are sore, but poor Lahey. His feet are bleeding and he’s miserable. I shared some of the cookies you made with him. I hope you don’t mind. I think it made him feel better. He has no one. His parents are dead, and his brother is also stationed overseas. I wish he had someone to write to. If you know any lonely girls…_

_Boyd and Jones are good guys, too. We’ve had to work together a few times now, and I’m glad they’re my team. I trust them._

_I don’t know what you should do with your life. I never had any real plans, which is how I ended up joining the National Guard. Working for the sheriff’s station is a good, respectable job. Do you want to stay in Beacon Hills? Do you want to move somewhere?_

_I’m glad the lacrosse season has started to give you something to think about. I hope that you get to play. Please let me know if you get to!_

_I loved the book you sent. I’ve read it already. I passed it along to another fellow in the platoon. I hope you don’t mind. He likes to read, too. We play cards a lot in our down time. I’ve learned quite a few new games, and I’ve gotten to know Lahey and Boyd rather well because of it. I wish you could meet them. I think you’d get along with them really well._

_The countryside is really beautiful here. One of the only perks to hiking 25 miles through forests is the scenery. We went swimming a few nights ago in a nearby river. There were some local girls some of the guys went on rather long walks with (if you catch my meaning). As I’m sure you guessed, I did not._

_How are your friends? Tell me about them. I wish I could tell you more about what I’m doing. Just know that I am well for now._

_I love you.  
Derek_

*

**March 29th, 1942**

**Derek,**

**That is a VERY LONG WALK. I hope they are not making you walk that much every day. And if they are, I hope you are getting enough rest. Now I’m going to worry about you even more.**

**Poor Isaac. Give him all the cookies he needs. I’ll send him cookies soon. I actually told Scott and Allison about him, so they decided to write him letters. I hope that’s okay? Maybe I should have asked. I don’t know any lonely girls, but I do know Scott and Allison.**

**I love to play cards. I play with Scott, Dad, and Mrs. McCall a lot, and now Allison joins sometimes. Scott has almost saved up enough money to buy a ring for Allison. He wants to ask her to marry him after we graduate. Jackson has already proposed to Lydia. She got her two-carat diamond, too! She’s very excited, and has already started planning her wedding. I think Scott was mad they got engaged before he and Allison did.**

**I told Scott and Allison about what you told me in one of your other letters, about the dog you, Isaac, and Boyd saved. They got a laugh at the image of our proud servicemen washing off a stray dog! I bet you’re giving it food, aren’t you? I liked the name you chose for it. I hope you can keep it around to keep all of you company!**

**It’s starting to get warm here again. I wished you could have seen all the snow this winter.**

**My birthday is in about a week. I will finally be eighteen! I don’t have any big plans since I have to go to school. I don’t have to work, and I think I’m going to invite Scott, Allison, and his mom over for dinner and cake. The bakery makes the best red velvet cake. Maybe I’ll send you a piece!**

**I can’t believe it’s been almost four months since I’ve seen you. I miss you so much sometimes it hurts. It literally physically hurts me sometimes.**

**I love you.  
** S  
  
*

_April 15th, 1942_

_S –_

_Why didn’t you tell me your birthday was coming up? Mine is in November. I should have told you in one of the letters we wrote during that time, but I didn’t even think about it until almost a week later. Happy birthday. I wish I could be there to celebrate it with you, but maybe next year I will be there beside you._

_One of the guys saw your last name on one of your letters. He asked me if you were Jewish, like it was a bad thing if you were. Lahey and Boyd had to pull me away from punching the guy in the face. I told him it was none of his business, because I realized I didn’t know. I think we’ve gotten lax on our “get to know you” portions of our letters. Are you Jewish? I don’t care if you are. I’d love you no matter what you were._

_How’s your dad feeling? I haven’t received an update on his condition in the last few letters. Hopefully the flu will pass. How’s Melissa doing? Is she still seeing that man you told me about?_

_We’re in a pretty remote area now. The sounds of bombs are a constant in the distance, and artillery fire is also common. Lahey is pretty terrified most of the time, but I’ve kinda taken him under my wing. He makes a good soldier, actually. He’s just young. He’s eighteen, so he’s your age. I think you two would get along if you ever met. He received the letter from Scott and Allison. He was really happy – you should have seen his face! He’s already written them back._

_The food is terrible. We get hot meals a few times a week, but mostly it’s cold food because we’re still travelling. Yes, I’m still walking a lot, sometimes up to thirty miles a day, but mostly around ten. The packs we carry weigh a lot, but it doesn’t bother me much. My feet though. All of our boots wear on us, and sometimes you have to ignore the pain and just keep walking. I think all my socks have holes in them._

_I have included a birthday present for you. Two pictures, one is my official army photo – I think it looks quite silly, don’t you? The other is a picture of me, Lahey, Boyd, and Jones playing cards. Lahey is the one beside me. Show it to Scott and Allison, too. I’ve also included a gold star pin. A lot of the guys are sending them home for their loved ones to wear. I thought you might like one._

_Happy birthday. Imagine that I am with you, with my arms around you, kissing you until you can’t breathe._

_Derek_

*

**May 5th, 1942**

**Derek,**

**I literally shouted aloud and waved my hands around in excitement when I saw the photos and the pin. I’m wearing it now. I’m never going to take it off. I put the photos up in the diner. A few of the customers have husbands fighting overseas, so we put their photos up, too. So, we have a bulletin board honoring our service men in the diner. And you’re in the middle! Scott and Allison were really excited to see a picture of Isaac, so they could put a face with the man in the letters. He seems very nice. I’ve read some of his letters, too. I even wrote him a message in the last one they sent out.**

**You look very handsome in your official photo. I don’t think you look silly at all, though I prefer the other picture where you are playing cards. Sometimes I take it down from the bulletin board and take it home with me. That’s so embarrassing, but I miss you and seeing your face at night comforts me. Plus, I think you look really sexy in that photo, smiling in your casual fatigues. I miss your stubble though, and your hair. The army buzzcut looks weird on you. I’m still going to pretend the stubble and hair is there.**

**I’m not Jewish. I’m third generation Polish. My grandparents emigrated when my dad was a little boy. They spoke very little English, and my dad speaks both with very little of his Polish accent unless he’s at home. My mother had a really thick Polish accent – I used to love listening to her talk! I wish you could have heard her. I speak a little Polish, but not very much. My grandparents are dead, so I haven’t used any of it in years. If you knew my real first name, you’d definitely have known I was Polish. But you’ll have to get that from me in person! I’m never writing it down.**

**Are you frightened when the bombs go off? Is it very loud? I’m scared for you. How do you sleep? I’m glad that the scenery is pretty. But I’m still worrying about you every day.**

**I made you more fudge (Lydia says hi, by the way), and have included socks, lotion, and soap in your package (I know you didn’t ask for the socks, but I couldn’t bear the thought of you walking with holes in your socks, with your feet bleeding. And please never feel bad asking for lotion and soap! I will send you anything you need). I hope it all gets to you, and that you like it. You can share the fudge with Isaac (and Boyd and Ethan). I think Scott and Allison sent Isaac some sweets that he should share with you.**

**Our team made it to the lacrosse championships! Coach actually let me play! I made the winning goal and was the MVP of the game. I couldn’t believe it.**

**I finally saw that film you mentioned a few letters ago. I went to the cinema with Scott and Allison. All I could think about was that you had seen the same movie, that I was watching footage that you had seen, too. It made me feel so close to you.**

**I miss you so much, Derek. Every day it gets harder and harder. Sometimes I look at the maps and think about how much distance is between us, and that makes it even worse. Nothing seems important, and sometimes getting out of bed is difficult. How are we going to be able to survive this war?**

**S**

*

_  
May 29th, 1942_

_S –_

_I was so surprised to find fudge and socks! You don’t understand how excited I was to see socks. It’s like you knew exactly what I needed. And thanks for the lotion and soap. The fudge is delicious – I have eaten too many pieces already, and I shared some with Lahey, Boyd, and Jones. I also ate a cookie from Lahey’s package. And I got the package a few days after I sent my last letter that had your birthday cake in it. It was a little stale, but still good. Thank you._

_I like the idea of the bulletin board at the diner. I will send you more photos if I can. I’m also sending a letter to Melissa so she can put it on the board, plus I really grew to like her while I was on leave. I’m thrilled that she has been dating that man for the past few months and seems to be happy. I’m glad to find out more about you. Polish, I like that. I can’t wait to find out more about your family. And to learn your real name! You’re gonna make me work for it, I can already tell._

_How did your grades turn out this year? You graduate in a week or so, and by the time I receive your answer it won’t matter anymore, but it matters to me. You’ve written so often over the last few months about how school has been difficult since New Year’s. I hate to think I had anything to do with that. I’m glad that you have been spending time with Scott, Allison, and Lydia. The dance you went to sounded like so much fun. As did the parties you’ve been attending leading up to graduation. Focus on that, my love, and remember that things can only go up._

_I am so proud of your lacrosse championship! And that you got to play. I told you it would happen. I believed in you. I wish I could have been there to see you. I would give anything to have been able to watch you play._

_The bombs do scare me sometimes, especially when they are close. There are nights when I can’t sleep for the sound of artillery fire and bombs going off. Those nights I think of you, remember all your moles that I memorized, the way you smell, the sound of your laugh. I miss the sound of your laugh so much, the way your eyes just light up as you throw your head back. Your neck is so beautiful when you do that, I just want to reach out and lick it (let’s hope this gets past the censors!). And the way your eyelashes fan around your eyes…these are the things that keep me from going insane. Lahey and I have beds beside each other in the barracks. I’ve told him about you; he’s the only one I’ve confided in since I got here. I think he’s fallen in love with both Scott and Allison, haha. He lives for their letters almost as much as I live for yours. I think he’s started thinking of them like the brother and sister he never had. He doesn’t hear much from his brother, just a few letters here and there._

_We will make it through as long as we hold on to each other. I think of you every moment I can, and dream of you when I sleep. You’re always on my mind, and I know that each day I pass here is one day closer to holding you in my arms again._

_I love you.  
Derek_

*

**  
June 16th, 1942**

**Derek,**

**I am officially a high school graduate! Aren’t you proud? I’m kinda sad to be done, but not really? Does that make sense? Right now, I’m just working at the diner and trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.**

**Scott and Allison are officially engaged. They are getting married in the fall. Scott tried to join the army, but he was turned down because of his asthma, however Jackson enlisted. Lydia was livid, but Jackson didn’t care. His real father was a war hero in the first war like Scott’s (I think I told you that), and he wants to make his father proud. They are getting married next week because he leaves for basic the week after that.**

**Mrs. McCall loved the letter. She was so happy to hear from you! She pinned it on the board beside some of the other letters and pictures we have up. She wrote you back, I hope it gets to you! She also wrote a letter to Isaac, Boyd, and Ethan, and she sent a care package to all of you.**

**It’s weird, all my friends getting married, and here I am, waiting on you. Not that I mind, please don’t take it that way! It just makes me lonely. Your letter made me miss you so much. The thoughts you put in my head! I don’t see any of the things you described when I look in the mirror. The way you describe me…it’s like you’re talking about another person. When I get lonely, I think about the way your body feels against mine, the way your stubble scrapes beneath my palm. And your eyes. I’m sure you know how amazing your eyes are. But it’s other things, like how you care about what I say. No one ever cares about what I say, but you do. And you care what I’m thinking, and that I’m happy. That sounds so stupid, but those things mean so much to me.**

**I’ve included a group picture of us at graduation. I thought you’d like it.**

**I miss you more and more each day.**

**All my love,  
S**

*

_  
July 8th, 1942_

_S –_

_You look so happy. It was so good to see your face, though it made me miss you even more, and I didn’t think that was possible. Tell Allison and Scott congratulations, along with Lydia._

_We’re on the move. I’m writing this from the frontlines, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to write again. I’m fine, we’re fine, but things are getting more and more intense. I can’t give you details, but if I don’t write for awhile, don’t be surprised. And if something happens to me, just promise me that you will live your life to the fullest, find someone and be happy. That’s all I want for you, for you to be happy. I’m imagining you here with me right now, that I am holding you. I will think of that every night until you hear from me again._

_I love you so much. I love you with every fiber of my being, and I will love you forever. No one could love another person as much as I love you._

_Derek_

*

Derek reread the letter with a heavy heart. He didn’t want to write that letter, but he needed for Stiles not to worry if he didn’t receive anything, needed Stiles to be happy and move on if something happened. Derek had no hopes of surviving the war. He had when he’d entered, but not anymore. Not when he fell asleep to the sound of bombs every night, saw soldiers blown to pieces out on the battlefield, heard of the deaths that were stacking up as the days went by.

“Hale, you writing another letter again? Doesn’t Stiles get tired of hearing you talk about the books you read and the shitty food?” Ethan laughed as he cleaned his rifle. The corner of Derek’s mouth quirked up as he carefully folded the letter and slid it into the envelope.

“Yeah, Serg, you write almost every day. What could you possibly talk about? Ain’t like you say much of nothing on a daily basis,” Boyd said from his bed.

“Nothing to you,” Derek replied as he sealed the envelope. He’d drop it off to the officer’s tent later.

“Are you gonna start using V-mail?” Isaac asked. He was finishing his own letter, this one to Melissa. Ethan and Boyd had written her earlier tonight, shorter letters than Isaac because he always wrote long letters. Boyd had family, sisters and a grandmother, that wrote to him often, and Ethan had a twin brother stationed in North Africa. Isaac only had Scott and Allison (and Stiles, who tried to write something in almost every letter Scott and Allison sent). His brother, Camden, was a Captain who had been on the frontline for over a year. Isaac didn’t receive a lot of letters from him.

“Are you?” Derek asked, pointing to the piece of paper in front of the kid. “You realize the space to write your message is small. You wouldn’t be able to fit anything in there.” Derek smiled when Isaac looked away, embarrassed.

“Not like Stiles is going to be able to use it either,” Ethan said. “I’ve seen his letters. That guy needs to learn when to shut up.”

“Better watch it,” Boyd said, laughing at Derek’s glare. “Serg won’t think twice about punching you for talking bad about Stiles.”

Ethan shrugged. “What kind of nickname is Stiles anyway?” he asked for the hundredth time. “It’s such a stupid name. I don’t care if his real name is some Polish bullshit you can’t pronounce.” Ethan quickly lost interest in his familiar bullshitting about Derek’s constant letter writing. Derek was pretty sure it was just because he was jealous.

Ethan knew Stiles was a guy, as did Isaac and Boyd. Derek hadn’t told them, and they hadn’t asked. He kept up the pretense with the regiment that Stiles was a girl with an unfortunate Polish first name. Stiles and Derek kept their letters vague and neutral enough that the censors never questioned them. As far as the army knew, Stiles was a sweet little diner waitress back in Beacon Hills.

But his fireteam knew differently. Isaac actually found out first, but that was because of Scott and Allison. Scott made some comment about Stiles that wasn’t obvious, but after a few letters, Isaac put two and two together and asked Derek about it.

“I don’t care if Stiles is a man,” Isaac had whispered to him one night on patrol. “You’re still my Sergeant and I trust you with my life. I’ll go to the grave with your secret.” It was amazing the relief that Derek felt at having _one person_ who knew the truth about Stiles, who he could talk with honestly without pretending Stiles was something he was not. 

But then there was the incident with Ethan in a small French town. The squad had been camped out in the French countryside, doing some routine reconnaissance work, when most of the soldiers had gone into the nearby town to a bar. Many of the soldiers had ended up in the beds of local maidens, but Ethan had ended up somewhere else. Boyd had come back to camp to get Derek, and then led him to a barn. Where Ethan was literally rolling in the hay with another man.

Derek stood with Isaac and Boyd while Ethan begged, “Please don’t report me. I’ll be court martialed for sure, and suspended from the army.” The French man ran away, and Derek leaned against an old barrel as Ethan put his pants back on. 

“I’m not going to report you,” Derek said, rubbing his eyes. He saw the fear on Ethan’s face, saw the look Isaac was giving him, saw the indifference in Boyd. “It’d be pretty hypocritical since you’re not the only one interested in men.”

“What?” Both Ethan and Boyd turned to him, and Derek nodded. “You mean Stiles…”

“Not a nice Polish girl,” Derek said. “Actually, he can be quite an asshole.” Derek looked at Boyd and asked, “Does this bother you?”

“Serg, you took me in when none of those other assholes wanted me because of the color of my skin. I don’t care if you fuck goats. I got your back, Ethan’s, too.”

Derek extended a hand to Ethan and helped him off the ground. “Our secret, the four of us,” Derek said, looking around at the faces of his men. “You better be glad Lahey and Boyd found you and not someone else. Just be careful with any of your future indiscretions.”

“How do you do it?” Ethan asked as they walked towards the camp. Derek held up his right hand and mimed jacking off. Boyd and Lahey snorted. “You mean – “

“When does he have time to go fuck, Jones?” Boyd asked. “In between writing Stiles letters, or how about talking about Stiles, or perhaps – “

“I get it,” Derek cut in.

“It’s not that bad,” Isaac said.

“Suck up,” Boyd muttered.

“Don’t you get lonely?” Ethan asked.

“Every fucking night, but the thought of touching anyone else, the thought of Stiles getting lonely and touching anyone?” Derek shuddered. “I’d rather just jack off. But,” he continued with a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “You do what you want. Just be careful, okay?”

Before that, the fireteam had faced gunfire and bombs and countless miles of travel through the French countryside, but that was the moment when Derek truly knew his team had cemented their trust in each other. He knew that they had each other’s backs _no matter what._

Derek got up, Stiles’ letter in hand, and walked out of the barracks. “Hale, wait up,” Isaac said, running up behind him. He placed three letters in Derek’s hands: one to Scott and Allison, one to Melissa, and one to Camden. “What did you tell Stiles?”

Derek’s mouth was a hard line as he glanced out at the camp. “I said not to worry if I didn’t write for awhile.”

“He’ll worry anyway,” Isaac said.

“I know.”

“How long do you think we’ll be out on the frontline?” Isaac asked. Derek turned to him. Isaac had grown a lot over the last seven months, but they had seen relatively little action. A few ambushes, lots of artillery fire and cannons in the distance, but they had been lucky so far. That was going to change soon though, and Derek saw Isaac’s apprehension. 

“Who knows.” He reached out and squeezed Isaac’s shoulder gently. “Don’t worry. Get some rest.” Isaac smiled and went back as Derek went to drop off the letters. He stared at the address before handing them off to go through the censors, hoping he’d be able to write again soon.

*

Their orders were to take the German line, then take the town beyond, along with the forest and the river. The squad made it to their destination, about 150 yards from the German line, a few hours after nightfall and spent the rest of the night digging their foxholes. By the time the sun started to rise, the squad had sufficient cover.

Then the wait began.

Boyd and Ethan were in a hole to the right, and Isaac shared his with Derek. Isaac nervously held his M4 carbine in his lap, his helmet heavy on his head. Derek’s own M4 was leaning against the foxhole wall.

“Get some rest,” Derek said as he looked at Isaac. He could hear various sounds from the foxholes of the other fireteams that made up the squad; some were sleeping, some were eating parts of their C-rations, and others were playing cards. Derek just wanted to sleep. “Tonight’s gonna be rough, so get some sleep.”

Derek leaned back against the dirt wall and closed his eyes. He didn’t think about the impending battle, the threat of death, the likelihood that he would take lives with the bullets resting in his uniform. 

Instead of he thought of Stiles’ face bathed in moonlight, thought of the sweat on his skin in the hotel room in New York. 

But even the thought of Stiles’ laugh couldn’t keep out the stench of war all around him in that trench.

*

The gun vibrated so hard from the rounds Derek shot that his hands were numb. But his finger never left the trigger. He chanced a glance over to his right, where Lahey was reloading. He heard a bomb explode on the German side, and saw Boyd lowering his M16 with the attached grenade launcher.

“All right, move out,” Derek instructed as he lead the way through the smoking fields. There were holes almost everywhere, and they moved carefully to avoid landmines. The land was gutted and scarred, littered with craters from German bombs. Derek’s ears rang, his hearing clouded by the after effects of the all the artillery fire, but even through the haze, he could hear the groans of men dying in the fields around him. They passed fallen soldiers with almost every step, and Jones tripped over a bloody helmet and Boyd caught him before he landed face first in the mud.

The troops had advanced over the enemy line. Derek didn’t know how many were left of their squad. He’d seen Miller’s head get blown off, saw Tucker get shot down by a spray of bullets. And that had only been in the first few minutes of the battle. After that, he tuned everything out.

“Oh god,” Lahey said, and Derek glanced behind him and followed his eyes to the tree above, where half a soldier was tangled in the branches.

“Keep moving,” Derek barked. 

The smell of gunpowder, blood, and rotting flesh was prominent in the night. Derek’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he guided the team by the sparse light of the stars and crescent moon, the battlefield illuminated occasionally by the orange flare of a bomb in the distance.

“We’re close,” Boyd said from the rear. 

They surprised three German soldiers at the outskirts of the town, and they shot them down easily. Shots were fired further in the town, so they crept through the streets silently. Boyd overtook someone who tried to ambush them from behind with a boot knife to the neck, the blood squirting onto Boyd’s already filthy face. They all were covered with sweat and dirt from head to foot, their faces barely recognizable under layers of grime. Derek knew he had the blood of at least three Nazis on his uniform and skin.

Allied forces overtook the town and secured the perimeter by dawn. The officers were calling it a victory; Derek was just relieved all four of them made it through the night.

Derek lucked out and didn’t get first watch, so he found an empty barn and collapsed on the hay. He needed a shower, but all he could do was lay there as fatigue overtook him.

“Serg?” Boyd found him about ten minutes later. He was carrying a loaf of bread, a wheel of cheese, and a bottle of wine. “You’re missing the celebration.”

“Celebration of what?” Derek growled. “War’s not over. We have to repeat the same thing tomorrow night. More men will die.”

Boyd sat carefully on the hay beside Derek. “You could look at the small things,” he said. “We broke through the German line and took the town. We’re alive.” Derek didn’t say anything. Boyd tore off a piece of bread and offered it to Derek. The sight of it made his mouth water. It’d been weeks since he’d had bread, and the cheese started to look good, too.

Later, after he’d taken a quick bath in the tub of a friendly elderly couple’s house, Derek went back to the hay and pulled out the small, cylindrical pill case. Inside, he’d rolled up the picture of Stiles from graduation and small excerpts he’d cut out of a few of his letters. Derek had burned most of Stiles’ letters since the army didn’t allow soldiers to keep bundles of letters in case of capture. He still had a few he couldn’t part with, had cut out bits of letters he’d wanted to save. He’d left most of his favorite letters back at the main camp with the rest of his personal effects and the picture of Stiles from the diner he’d given him before he left. He couldn’t bear to part with those if he lost them or they got damaged.

He unrolled the picture of Stiles and looked at his smiling face. Derek felt both comforted and even more melancholy. In the middle of this hell, it was hard to believe there was goodness in the world, that there were people out there like Stiles. Sometimes Derek wondered if those few stolen moments with Stiles had been a dream. There were nights Derek couldn’t believe any of it had been real.

The day could have been worse, but it was bad enough. And Derek knew it was just one of many.

“Care if I join you?” Lahey walked up tentatively, and Derek shrugged. He sat along the far wall of the barn and tried to get comfortable as Derek unrolled the piece of one of Stiles’ letters.

_You’re a stubborn ass, but I love you. I’d rather fight with you every day for the rest of my life than pass a day with a bore who agrees with everything I say. Sometimes I wonder why I fell in love with you, but I guess that’s a mystery I’ll spend eternity unraveling._

Derek read Stiles’ words over and over, imagining Stiles’ hands on his body, Stiles’ breath against him as he slept. Then just as carefully, he rolled up the paper and reinserted into the tube, then stared at the picture for a few more moments before sliding it in also. Then, he put the tube back in his uniform pocket.

After some sleep, he and Lahey had watch and patrolled the perimeter, the sounds of German conversation drifting from beyond their eyesight, making them both uneasy.

*

“All right, Stilinski, I’ll hire you,” Finstock said. “But don’t think you’re gonna all of a sudden be some hotshot reporter. This is Beacon Hills, ain’t nothing worth printing, but we do it anyway.”

Stiles shook Finstock’s hand and took his new desk in the newsroom. As far as editors went, Finstock wasn’t the best, and he wasn’t kidding when he said nothing happened in Beacon Hills. But Stiles was planning on changing that. The reason he’d thought to take the job anyway was because the paper printed nothing covering the war, and that was unheard of. The next town over printed stories about the goings on in Europe, but even that wasn’t as good as the newspapers in the cities, like San Francisco. 

Stiles vowed to change that. Becoming a reporter achieved three goals: it gave him a career that _wasn’t_ in law enforcement, it gave him something to occupy himself with, and it helped him keep up with the war, and by extension, Derek.

“You got it?” Danny asked when Stiles took the desk next to him. “That’s great!”

“Thanks,” Stiles said. He looked around at the small group of people, talking in small clusters in boredom, and then leaned closer to Danny and whispered, “So, you wanna join me in the coup that’s going to turn this newspaper into something worth reading?”

*

It was the end of July, and Stiles had been working at the paper a month when he received a letter from Derek dated July 8th. He sat down in the living room, excited to read another letter. But after he finished it, he just sat there and stared at the words on the paper.

The air in the room seemed to be sucked out, and it took him a full five minutes to fight off the panic attack. He gave in a few times and let the crushing fear overwhelm him as he struggled to breathe. He hadn’t even realized he started crying until the drops landed on the paper.

Stiles left the house and walked to the outskirts of town, to the house Scott had bought for him and Allison. It was a modest two bedroom house, perfect for a newlywed couple and their prospective first children. But it was the definition of a fixer upper, so Scott spent most of his afternoons off from the diner making the house livable so it’d be ready by the time they married in October. Stiles was glad that he’d decided to rent a nice house a few streets away from his dad, a house that needed no work at all because Stiles had no interest in hardware and painting.

“Scott?” Stiles called out when he entered the house.

“In here,” Scott yelled from the kitchen. He was installing new cabinets that Allison had picked out. He was currently sitting on the floor, drilling holes into the wood where the cabinet doors would eventually be attached. “Hey! How’s it going?” Scott set the drill down and looked up at Stiles with a smile, which immediately fell when he saw his face. “What’s wrong?”

Stiles couldn’t say anything, just shoved the letter in Scott’s hand. As Scott read, Stiles dropped to the floor and propped himself against the old cabinets Scott hadn’t removed yet. He rested his forearms on his knees and stared at his hands. When Scott finished, he handed the letter back to Stiles.

“He thinks he’s going to die,” Stiles managed to get out.

“You don’t know that.”

“Scott, did you even read the letter?” Stiles exclaimed. “Derek _never_ talks like this. He’s never exactly cheerful, and he’s maudlin and melancholy more than I’d like, but never…whatever the hell this. How else am I supposed to interpret, ‘if I die, live your life and be happy.’ He might as well have said, ‘Walking into my death, nice knowing you, too bad this is your last letter because I won’t be breathing anymore. I’ll be a cold dead corpse and – ‘”

“Stiles!” Scott yelled. Stiles snapped from his thoughts and glanced at him. “You can’t do this.”

“Why? It’s true.”

“No, it’s not. I’m not going to let you convince yourself Derek is dead and then wallow in self-pity for no reason. He’s going out on the frontlines. Thousands of soldiers do it every day, and they survive.”

“Then how do you explain the letter?”

Scott shrugged. “He wants you _not_ to worry if you don’t hear from him. And he wants to make sure you won’t do anything stupid if the worst case scenario happens.”

Stiles sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I can’t do this, Scott. He’s only been gone eight months, and it’s been the hardest eight months of my life. And they’re saying that there’s no end of the war in sight, and what if it’s years, Scott, years of me worrying and – “

“Stiles,” Scott cut in, much more gently this time. “You will get through it. You will work, eat dinner with Allison and me, spend time with Lydia comforting each other since you’re both going through the same things. You’ll go to baseball games with your dad and help my mom at the diner when she needs it. You will keep living your life. Because that’s what Derek would want you to do.”

Stiles nodded. “I just can’t imagine a world he’s not a part of,” he said quietly. “I can’t imagine a world where Derek Hale doesn’t exist.”

“Then don’t imagine it.”

“Why are you the eternal optimist?”

Scott smiled, and it immediately made Stiles feel better. “Someone’s gotta be.”

*

“Stilinski!” Finstock’s voice rang out from his office. “Mahealani! Get your asses in here right now!”

Stiles and Danny glanced at each other as they hurried towards Finstock’s office. He was standing behind his desk, his bug eyes nearly popping out of his head. The day’s edition of the _Beacon Hills Gazette_ was crumpled in his fist. 

“Do you care to explain why the story on this year’s grape crop is not on the front page? Or in the paper at all?” Finstock glared at both of them.

“Because it was shit,” Stiles said. “No one cares about grape crops.”

“Oh, they don’t, do they?” Finstock asked.

“We thought covering the scrap metal drive was a much more important story,” Danny explained. “The community needs to know the importance of scrap metal for the war effort, and when I asked people on the street, most of them hadn’t heard anything about it.”

“Because people don’t want to know,” Finstock said. “They want to stay happy in their safe little bubbles.”

“They’re not safe!” Stiles yelled. “There’s a goddamn war going on out there, and everyone needs to understand that. Beacon Hills may be small, but the little bit we collect can save a whole regiment of soldiers!”

“Watch it, Stilinski!” Finstock slammed the paper down on the desk. “I should fire both your asses for changing my entire paper without my permission.” Stiles braced himself and readied his argument. “But I’m not going to.”

“What?” they said in unison.

“It’s the most profitable issue we’ve had! We made more from the sales of this one issue than we have on every issue since I hired Stilinski three months ago!”

“So, what are you saying, sir?” Danny asked.

“What the hell do you think I’m saying?” Finstock waved his hand around, pointing to the newsroom. “Go write about the damn war! Make me some money!”

Stiles and Danny rushed out of the office, grinning.

*

Lydia was looking through a box that Ms. White, wife to a naval officer overseas, held when Stiles entered the Elk Lodge. Everything was organized very neatly. There was a section for tin cans, bottles, cooking oils, and nylons and silks. He’d passed the rubber and scrap metal piles on his way inside.

Lydia waved when she spotted him and walked over, her heels clacking on the tile floor. “What did you bring?” she asked, peering into the box Stiles carried. “Good, a little bit of everything. Doing your part, I see.” She flipped her hair as she straightened, another army wife taking his box to be sorted.

“As are you,” Stiles said, pointing to her bare legs. “Isn’t that quite scandalous?”

“Not when my nylons are going to a better cause.”

“Maybe that’s the story I should do,” Stiles said. “Women of Beacon Hills display bare legs for the war effort.”

“You’d probably sell issues.”

“Probably.” Stiles pulled his reporter’s pad from his back pocket and jotted down the idea. “How’s our haul today?”

“This month is a lot more sparse than last month’s,” she said with a frown. “Each month we do this, the donations get smaller and smaller.”

“What did you expect? The household items are the only things that get replenished.”

“I know.” She crossed her arms. “I just want to contribute more! Jackson is doing his part, I want to do mine.”

“Lydia, you do more than your share of helping for the cause.” He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a side hug. “Have you heard from Jackson?”

“Still stateside.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Have you heard from Derek?” Stiles shook his head. “It’s been what, three months since his last letter?”

Stiles nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “Between worrying about Derek and worrying that I’m going to find my own draft letter in the mailbox every time I open it, I’m in a constant state of panic.”

Derek’s letter had been dated July, and it was October, and Stiles had heard nothing. He tried not to worry, but every day he went to the mailbox with increasing dread, afraid to open the mailbox because if he prolonged it just a few more seconds, there was still hope that today might be the day.

But every day the mailbox was empty, and every day Stiles went about his life like a major part of it wasn’t missing.

*

Scott and Allison got married on a sunny, chilly day in late October. Stiles was Scott’s best man, Lydia the maid of honor, the reception held at the local church. It was a lovely wedding, small but tasteful (according to Lydia), and even Allison’s dad couldn’t be unaffected by how happy the couple looked.

There was still no letter from Derek.

*

Thanksgiving came and went. 

Then Christmas, and New Year’s. Stiles got so drunk on New Year’s that he passed out in the street, and found out later that one of his dad’s deputies had taken him home instead of throwing him in the drunk tank. 

Stiles stayed in his house, called in sick to work, and got drunk again. But there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to block out the sound fireworks and the feel of Derek’s stubble against his cheek as he ignored the fireworks and focused on Stiles. The vodka didn’t erase the feel of Derek pushing inside him, the stretch and burn and pain as Derek filled him, the sense of completeness as Derek made love to him on a rickety bed. The whiskey didn’t block out the knowledge that a year had passed since he last saw Derek, and he didn’t know how many more would pass before he saw him again.

Nothing made Stiles forget that there was still no letter from Derek waiting for him in the mailbox.

*

By the end of January, Stiles stopped hoping for a letter. 

Scott, Lydia, and Allison stopped trying to make him feel better.

*

The first week of February, Stiles was sitting on the front porch with a mug of tea when he saw the Western Union telegram man walking down the street towards his house. He stared as he approached, and he knew. 

Derek was dead. Derek had been killed in action.

The mug slipped from his hands and shattered on the cement porch as Stiles shoved his head between his legs and let the panic attack consume him. Because nothing mattered anymore. Derek was gone.

But the man didn’t interrupt him. Stiles lifted his head and glanced across the street and two houses down, where Maggie Young was gripping her mother with a yellow slip of paper in her hand, the man walking back the way he came. Her hysterical cries carried across the street and settled in Stiles’ chest, but all he could think was _Derek is still alive. Derek is still alive._

*

In the middle of February, Stiles realized that even if Derek was killed in action, no one from the army would contact him. As far as the army knew, Derek had no living relatives, no one to mourn him as he rotted on some battlefield in France.

Stiles spent a week locked in his house, drunk.

Scott stopped trying to get him to come out after the second day.

*

At the beginning of March, Stiles checked the mail for the first time in a week. It was stuffed full of things Stiles cared nothing about: bills, advertisements, a letter about the latest scrap metal drive he and Lydia were organizing, not letters from Derek.

Stiles was about to drop it all in the trash when he caught sight of an envelope sticking out from beneath the others. He blinked, thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him, but no. He pulled it out, discarding the rest of the mail on a table without a thought. Addressed to Stiles, in familiar small scrawl, the return address reading, “Sgt. Derek Hale.”

Suddenly, he felt lightheaded and managed to make it to the couch, nearly fainting. He stared at the envelope with shaking hands as the dizziness passed, and then he tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter. He unfolded it, relief flooding him as his eyes recognized Derek’s handwriting. He took a deep breath and started reading.

_January 29th, 1943_

_S –_

_I apologize for the delay in writing you. I was on the frontlines for months, constantly on the move and fighting, with no way to communicate, and after that I was in an army hospital, recovering. This is what happened._

*

For months, Derek’s days went like this: move through the countryside, dig in, rest. Sometimes he repeated this two or three times a day. A constant barrage of heavy shells flew over his head from both sides. They fought almost every day, going head to head with the Germans as they pushed forward towards the river. Near the end of the first month, they took a small town near the river and stayed there for a few days. 

Derek slept for almost twenty four hours straight until he had to be on patrol, then slept again. His feet were bruised and blistered, his muscles sore and fatigued. Boyd was nursing a slightly twisted ankle, Isaac had a gash on his arm from stray shrapnel, and Ethan ended up with a digestive ailment half the platoon got the day before they got to the town.

“When I get home, I’m gonna eat so many hamburgers I won’t be able to move for days,” Isaac said as they lay on the ground and looked up at the stars. He was picking at the bread and cheese they managed to get from some of the residents. The sound of artillery never ceased in the background, and Derek wondered briefly if he would ever be able to sleep without it.

“Please don’t talk about food,” Ethan said. He was on the mend, but he was still a little nauseous. 

“I want my grandmamma’s fried chicken,” Boyd said. “And sweet potato pie.”

“What about you, Serg?” Isaac asked.

“Don’t matter, as long as it’s hot,” Derek said. Isaac kept talking about hamburgers, and he thought about the diner and Scott’s hamburgers. It was the first thing he ever ordered at the diner, at Stiles’ suggestion no less. He remembered studying the menu as he listened to him talk, then give that fake salute, giving Derek the perfect opportunity to speak. When he’d looked up into Stiles’ face, and wide smiles and bright eyes, Derek fell in love that very moment. His mom always used to say, “You’ll know, Derek, when you meet the right girl. You’ll look at her and you’ll just know.” And she was right. Derek looked at Stiles and just _knew_.

“Serg, you with us?” Boyd asked. Derek blinked and looked around at his team. They were all smirking at him. “Thinking about Stiles again?” Derek just glared.

“I’m going to find a sweetheart,” Ethan started, “just so I can bother Hale with him for the next six months.” They laughed, and Derek kept staring at the sky, enjoying the sound of laughter for the first time in days.

*

They continued to advance towards the river, and after a few more months of gaining and falling back and daily combat, they arrived at the river. They secured the area and dug holes on a hill just above it. Derek was settling with Isaac in their foxhole when the platoon commander came around. “Hale, your team is going down after dark to scout the river. Find places to cross and any weak spots.”

“Yes, sir.”

Now, they just had to wait. Derek heard heavy firing off to the left where B company was engaged. He tried to drown out the sounds of constant gunfire, but it was futile.

“What do you think happens when you die?” Isaac asked. He had his boots and socks pulled off and was rubbing his sore feet like the army doctors cautioned them to do regularly. 

“Isaac,” Derek said, using his first name for the first time in months, “you shouldn’t be thinking that way. That kind of thinking gets you killed.”

“I think there’s some kind of afterlife, whether or not there’s some higher power. If this is all that my life has been, then there has to be something better afterwards.”

“I like to think my family is somewhere happy and together,” Derek said, leaning against the dirt wall. He took off his heavy helmet briefly to rub the sweat and grime from beneath it. He ran his hand over his buzzed hair, hating the way it felt against his hand. “I’d like to think I’d get to see them again one day.”

“Was your family happy, before the fire?” Derek nodded as he refastened his helmet beneath his chin. “My dad was a mean sonofabitch. Used the beat me within an inch of my life if I didn’t do something right. Thought punishment and discipline meant love. Used to beat my mom, too. I remember walking out one day to find the sheets hanging from the clothesline, covered in blood, and she ushered me inside, but I saw her face.” Isaac shook his head. “If I die, I want something better than what I’ve had so far. I hope my mom is somewhere beautiful.”

“Don’t lose hope you’ll survive the war,” Derek said. 

“You’ve lost hope,” Isaac pointed out.

“I haven’t.”

“You stopped writing Stiles.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. I haven’t had the paper. And we’ve been on the move for three months.”

“I’ve seen other men writing letters in their foxholes. You could be writing every day like usual.” 

Derek didn’t say anything, and silence filled the small space. They heard the explosions of grenades, the muffled shouts in the distance. 

“I think if I make it out,” Isaac said, “I’d like to go to Beacon Hills.”

“Really?” Derek asked, turning towards him.

“I want to meet Scott and Allison, and Stiles. Maybe I’ll go there first after I’m discharged. Don’t have anywhere else to go. Nothing waiting for me back in Kansas.”

Derek smiled. “They’d love that. You’d love that.”

Isaac smiled back at him. “Something to look forward to then?”

“Definitely.”

*

Derek’s team, along with multiple others, crept down the hill towards the river. They hadn’t detected any movement, but they hadn’t completely neutralized the German threat in the area, and they hadn’t secured the river yet. 

Derek led the way, with Isaac and Ethan flanking him, and Boyd bringing up the rear. They were almost to the edge when the teams were ambushed. Bright bursts of orange exploded from the tips of the enemy guns, and Derek dropped immediately to his stomach. He heard the gunfire from Ethan and Isaac’s guns, heard the whistle of the grenade from Boyd’s gun as it sailed overhead. 

A bomb landed to their right. “Mason?” Derek yelled to the other team leader, but only received silence in reply. He cursed to himself and crawled forward. 

Time seemed to slow down as Derek heard the whistling draw closer, and he looked up and then yelled to his men as the bomb landed to his left. The explosion was deafening, and Derek couldn’t hear the sound of his own scream as he covered his eyes and felt the shrapnel slicing through his skin.

The last thing that went through his head was _I don’t want to die,_ and then there was nothing.

*

Derek woke up screaming, his legs and back on fire. The pain was so bad he couldn’t think of anything else, didn’t know where he was or even who he was. There was just _pain_.

A pretty blonde girl’s face came into his vision, her lips bright red, like blood. “Hang on, Sergeant Hale.”

Moments later, the darkness overtook him.

*

He was walking on the beach with Stiles, hand in hand as the ocean washed over their feet.

“Derek,” Stiles laughed, his honey-colored eyes looking straight into Derek’s soul. He squeezed Derek’s hand. “I’m going to get sunburned if we stay out here any longer.”

“I don’t care,” Derek said, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist and lifting him so he could twirl him around. He lowered him so he could kiss those perfect lips.

“I love you,” Stiles said. Derek heard a whistling, and looked around in confusion as the bomb hit behind them, Stiles’ body bursting into flame in his arms.

“Stiles!”

“Sergeant Hale!” a woman’s voice cut through the dream, and Derek lashed out as he tried to get out of bed.

“I have to find Stiles.”

Two orderlies held him to the bed as he struggled against them, ignoring the pain over his entire body. He had to get to Stiles, why couldn’t these people understand?

“Doctor Deaton!” the blonde woman shouted. “His fever is worse.”

“Calm down, Derek,” a pleasant voice said as a dark-skinned man looked down at him.

“Where’s Stiles?”

“Go to sleep,” the doctor said.

“But Stiles.” Derek kept struggling until the blackness came again.

*

Derek opened his eyes and knew he was dead. He was in heaven, everything had a golden glow. Isaac’s face appeared, surrounded by a halo.

“You’re an angel,” Derek said as Isaac smiled at him serenely. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

The blonde woman appeared beside Isaac, along with Boyd, all of them with golden halos above their heads. “You’re all angels,” Derek murmured, as his vision slowly became fuzzy. “I’m so sorry.”

*

Derek opened his eyes and blinked against the sun streaming in through the windows. He looked around, disoriented. He didn’t recognize where he was or remember how he got there. The room was large and white, with beds lining both walls.

He was in an army hospital. 

When Derek tried to sit up, his entire back and legs were ached something fierce. By the time he managed to get upright, he felt dizzy and his head throbbed.

“Don’t get up!” a woman cried, running in and forcing him to lie back down. 

“I’m not. My head is killing me. Actually, all of me is killing me.” Derek kept his eyes closed until the dizziness and wave of nausea passed. 

“Is the pain manageable?” the woman asked. Derek opened his eyes and realized it was the blonde woman he’d seen in his dreams. Or more accurately, his few bouts of lucidity. She was a nurse. 

“Yes.”

“Do you know your name?” Derek glared at her. He may be in the hospital, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Sergeant Derek Hale, 2nd battalion, 291st infantry regiment, 3rd division.” He stared at her, his mouth a hard line. “Why would you ask me such an inane question?”

“I’ll go get the doctor,” she said before walking away.

“Is my team here?” Derek asked after her.

“I’ll tell them you’re awake.”

Derek tried to figure out how much time had passed and what happened. The last thing he remembered was being on the battlefield by the river. But he wasn’t even sure what led him here.

A few moments later, the man from his dreams entered. He was wearing a white lab coat and scrubs. He smiled peacefully when he stopped beside his bed. “Hello, I’m Doctor Deaton. How are you feeling today, Sergeant Hale?”

“Fine.” Derek struggled to sit up and finally managed to prop himself against his pillows.

“How is the pain in your back and legs?”

“Fine,” Derek said. It hurt, but wasn’t too bad.

Deaton tilted his head and stared at him thoughtfully. “The wounds are almost healed. You were lucky the pieces of shrapnel embedded into your back and legs didn’t cause more widespread damage.”

“What happened, Doc? How long have I been here?”

“Three months.”

“Three months?” Derek felt dizzy again, and Doctor Deaton placed his hand on Derek’s forehead, then went about checking him over.

“Don’t excite yourself,” Deaton said. 

“You just said I’ve been out for three months, what am I supposed to do?” Derek growled. His brain swirled with thoughts and images, and he felt so confused and vulnerable. He hated the feeling more than anything.

Deaton pulled a stool over and sat beside the bed. “You were hit with shrapnel from a bomb. In addition to your back and legs sustaining damage, you suffered multiple head wounds and a short bout of amnesia.”

“Excuse me?” Derek asked, though the nurse asking him his name made more sense now. “What does all this mean? Am I being discharged?”

“I’m afraid not. With your memory back, and your shrapnel wounds healing so quickly, you should be out of here very soon.” Doctor Deaton made to stand up, but hesitated. “It’s very curious, Sergeant Hale, that you suffered from amnesia but called out the same thing every night that you were here. Every night for three months, without fail.”

Derek felt dread pool in the bottom of his stomach. “What did I say?”

“You called out ‘Stiles’. A curious word, one I was unsure what to make of until the night you kept repeating you had to find him.” Deaton stared at Derek with an unreadable look.

“Are you going to file a report with my CO?” Derek asked, bracing himself.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Derek,” Deaton said as he stood up. “The nocturnal ramblings of an amnesiac patient with a high fever can be considered nothing but gibberish.” 

Derek dropped his head back to the pillow and sighed in relief as Deaton left him alone. His head was swimming with information, trying to snatch pieces from memories he knew he didn’t have. He didn’t realize he had nodded off until he felt a hand shaking him awake gently.

“Serg?” Derek blinked and looked over at Isaac. He was walking on crutches.

“Lahey? Are you okay?”

“Had surgery to remove some shrapnel. Doc says I’ll be back on the battlefield in no time.” 

“Where are Boyd and Jones?” 

Isaac hobbled around until he could sit on the edge of Derek’s bed. “Boyd is fine. He’s back at camp, though they have him on the reserve line for now.”

“And Jones?”

Isaac ran a hand through his curls, which had grown out during the previous months. “When the bomb hit, it landed right beside Jones, and he caught the brunt of it.”

“Isaac,” Derek said, the cold feeling of dread creeping into his chest.

“Ethan died as soon as the bomb hit.”

Derek’s eyes were damp, and he turned away from Isaac. He wanted to be left alone; it was too much to process in one day. Three months of his life lost, injuries, a dead team member, a boy under his care. He tried not to think of Ethan’s brother, how they had been orphans with only each other and now Aiden was alone. Isaac sat silently beside him for a few moments before struggling to his feet and then hobbling towards the door.

“No one’s written Stiles,” Isaac said. “We didn’t know what to say because you didn’t know who you were and the doctor said he wasn’t sure when you’d recover. We thought it’d be better to wait.” Then, Isaac left Derek alone.

Derek rolled to his side and closed his eyes, willing everything just to go away.

*

_I hope that you have not worried too much about me. I know it’s been months since you’ve heard from me, and I hope you have kept yourself busy with your life. I haven’t been back to base, so I don’t know if I have any letters waiting for me. Boyd said he was going to inquire after them and bring me any mail waiting for me._

_The doctor said it should only be another month or so before Lahey and I can go back into the field. I don’t like being here. It smells like antiseptic, and I hear the soldiers screaming when they’re brought in. It’s worse than on the battlefield because it’s so much worse to listen to a man die and cry out for his wife, kids, and mother in the room down the hall. It’s so loud and it keeps me up at night. Plus, there’s nothing to distract me from blaming myself for Jones’ death. I just think of his face at night, and it’s sometimes too much to bear. He was so young, Stiles. He was your age. He had barely lived. He wanted to find someone to fall in love with when he got back home and get a job at the Ford factory in his hometown. I haven’t had the guts to write his brother yet. He needs to know how brave his brother was, how much of a good man he was._

_My convalescence also offers me nothing to distract myself from missing you. All I keep thinking is that I almost died. When I joined the army, I didn’t care whether I lived or died. After Laura died, I wanted to die in combat like her. But now…all I want is to get home to you. I just want to live and return to you. I’m so lonely, and I wish you were here to help the pain go away because I know if you were here, I wouldn’t be in any pain. Your face would be enough to make everything bad go away._

_I love you so much. There are not words in the English language that even compare to my feelings for you. I miss you so bad and curse every day this war keeps me away from you. Honestly, I just curse this damn war. I hate it with every breath I take._

_I love you so much,  
Derek_

Stiles didn’t make it through the end of the letter before his eyes were too wet to see. He clutched the letter in his hand as he curled into a ball on his bed, repeating _Derek is alive. Derek is alive._

He was numb. There was no way he could begin to understand what Derek went through, to understand the loss of a team member, the pain of getting hit by shrapnel. He could visualize the horrors even less. A letter like this made the articles he wrote about the war seem like children’s games. This was reality. For the first time, he understood why Finstock didn’t want to print anything related to the war. People didn’t need to be faced with these horrors.

There was a knock at the front door, but Stiles ignored it. However, the knocking didn’t stop. It pounded into his brain until Stiles stormed through the house and flung it open. Lydia stood on the other side, looking impatient in her hat and perfectly pressed dress. But the moment she saw his face, her face fell.

“Oh god, what happened?” Stiles made his way back to his bedroom, and she followed him. “It’s Derek, isn’t it?”

“I got a letter from him,” Stiles said, voice thin with emotion. 

“That’s good, right?” Lydia asked, sitting primly on the edge of Stiles’ bed. 

“He got injured.” He handed the letter to her and stared at the wall as she read it. When she handed it back, tears were rolling down her face, making her mascara run.

“This is what it’s going to be like for Jackson, too, isn’t it?” she asked. “Foxholes and artillery fire and death everywhere.”

“We’re such fools, Lydia,” Stiles said. “We’ve spent the last six months thinking we’ve made a difference with our scrap metal drives and rubber drives and campaigns to write letters to servicemen who have no family. Danny and I’ve tried to do something important with the newspaper. But none of it matters. What we’ve done is so fucking insignificant that it’s laughable. What’s the point of anything?”

Lydia held her head high, jutting out her chin. “Maybe I’m not out on the front line, but I know what we’ve done is important. You and Danny have made people in Beacon Hills aware of what’s going on, and participation in the drives have gone up exponentially. Almost everyone in town contributes!” Lydia stood up and faced him, pointing a gloved finger. “You read what Derek said. He doesn’t want you sitting around and moping because he got hurt. He wants you living your life. What do you think he’d say if he knew how you’d spent the last few months?” 

“Lydia – “

“Don’t Lydia me,” she said. “You are going to get your butt off the bed, take a shower, put on fresh clothes, and come with me down to the Elks Lodge so we can collect cooking oil and scrap metal and all the other things people have for our men. We will do what we can because that’s all we can do.” She stood glaring at him, arms crossed, leaving no room for argument.

*

“Son, are you okay?” the sheriff asked when Stiles came over for Sunday dinner. Their selection of food was limited due to rationing and the food shortage, but Stiles barely tasted it anyway.

“Fine.”

The sheriff sighed. “You haven’t been yourself for months. Do you not like living alone? Do you not like your new job?” He pushed his plate aside and rested his elbows on the table. “I’m going crazy here, Stiles. Talk to me.”

“This war really stinks,” he said into his meal. “So many deaths, so many restrictions, it’s just…hard to deal with.”

“You’re worried about getting drafted, aren’t you?” the sheriff said. Stiles looked up at his dad and nodded. It wasn’t a lie; Stiles was terrified. There had already been quite a few boys from his class drafted already. The day he’d had to register was the scariest day of his life. Every time he opened the mailbox, he was scared he would find that envelope waiting for him. 

“I don’t want to go to war.”

“You would make your country proud.”

“Dad, I’d be the worst solider in the world. Can you imagine me in a foxhole, or worse, with a gun?” Stiles shuddered at the thought, got lost in the image of Derek doing just that. Walking through the French countryside with sore and bleeding feet, ears deaf from constant gunfire, covered in dirt and grime. “I wouldn’t last a day.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” the sheriff asked, studying Stiles closely. “Sure there’s nothing else?”

“Like what?” Stiles sometimes wished he could tell his father everything, get some advice, some comfort, just stop with all the lies.

The sheriff looked at him for a few heavy moments, then shrugged. “I wish I knew. I just wish you would talk to me. I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine, Dad,” Stiles said. “I’m fine.”

*

The pamphlet came in the mail the next day. Stiles leafed through it at work, in between working on an article about the local school band.

“Hey Danny,” Stiles said, rolling his chair across the newsroom floor and skidding to a stop beside him. “Look at this.”

Danny took it and gave it a cursory glance. “A victory garden.” He looked at Stiles with an incredulous smile. “Do you even know how to garden?”

“No, but look.” Stiles flipped to one of the pages. “They explain what’s the easiest to plant, and even how to set up the garden.”

“That’s all you, Stilinski. If you want to do it, then go ahead.”

Stiles forgot all about the school band and started digging around for information about victory gardens. By the time he went home, he had a front page article and a plan. 

He brought up the idea to Scott, Allison, and Lydia at dinner that night. “I think it’s a great idea,” Allison said.

“Do you even know how to garden?” Scott asked.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Stiles exclaimed. 

The next day, Stiles found an empty plot of land owned by the same people who owned the hardware store, whose son had been drafted a few months ago. They let him use the land and even donated to the fund to buy seeds and tools.

By the end of the next week, Stiles was planting seeds alongside Lydia, Scott, Allison, Danny, and a few other people from the town, and they’d convinced half the town to plant victory gardens in their own backyards.

*

**V-Mail  
March 5th, 1943**

**Derek,**

**I don’t have much space to write you, but I wanted to get this to you quickly, and they said this takes around a week. I just received your letter, which you sent months ago. Obviously, regular mail can get lost and take much longer.**

**I have been going crazy for the past months thinking you were dead. I don’t even have words for your letter. How do you respond to that? You don’t. I hate to think that you are in pain, and I am so glad you are safe and alive. That makes you even more precious than before, to think of how close I came to losing you. I cannot even begin to think that the last time I held you could have been the last time. I wish you were home. I wish I could hold you.**

**Nothing exciting has happened here. I’m starting a victory garden in town, so when you return, I will know how to grow vegetables! Maybe we can live on our own farm, in the middle of the country, and grow our own food. Just the two of us, away from the rest of the world.**

**I wish I could hold you and comfort you. Pretend my arms are around you, your head on my chest, my hands in your hair. I love you so much.  
S**

*

Derek walked through the corridor of the hospital, the pain in his legs almost non-existent. He was ready to get out of the hospital, back to combat, even though he knew what that meant. Sitting around the hospital all day was starting to get to him. 

Isaac and Boyd were in the recreation room, and so Derek wandered in there, but sat in a chair by the radio. It was reporting the news, and but it was in French which he still had trouble understanding, so he turned it to music. He had his eyes closed, his face angled towards the sun, when he heard footsteps approaching.

“Sergeant Hale.” It was Erica, the only nurse who would deal with him, and therefore his favorite.

“How many times have I told you to call me Derek?” he said, keeping his eyes closed.

“Derek,” she started again. “Would you like to dance?” He opened his eyes and looked at her in confusion. “I love this song. Come on.” She had her hand extended, clearly waiting and not taking no for an answer. “It’ll be good therapy for your leg.”

Derek groaned as he stood up and reluctantly pulled her towards him. He placed his hand on Erica’s waist, holding her hand at shoulder level with his other one. The other soldiers in the room started catcalling, and he looked over to find Boyd and Isaac smirking over their game of cards.

“You’ve caused a spectacle, Nurse Reyes.”

“We are quite the pair, aren’t we, Sergeant Hale?”

Derek led them around in a circle to the slow trumpet melody, and other nurses started dancing with some of the other men. 

“You know I’m not interested in you,” Derek said, “just so we’re clear.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself,” Erica scoffed. “Not every woman here has fallen prey to those eyes and that scruff.” She scratched her nails through the beard he’d grown over the months he’d been here. It reminded him of Stiles, and that familiar longing gathered in his chest. “Besides, I know you’re taken.”

“You do?” he asked incredulously.

“Who do you think was the one taking care of you when you were calling out for him?” she whispered. Derek felt his face flush at the same time he was filled with dread. “Don’t worry,” she said, squeezing his shoulder. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Why?”

“No thank you, just constantly with the questions,” Erica said with a shake of her head. “No wonder the other nurses don’t want anything to do with you.”

“You’re the only competent one,” Derek said. “Besides, half of them flirt with me.”

“Like I said, those eyes and that scruff.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Always business with you,” she said with a smile. “I like you, Derek. And from what I hear from Boyd and Isaac, you’re a great soldier and a great leader. Plus,” her eyes lingered over Derek’s shoulder and he turned around, catching Boyd looking at them before he quickly turned away. “We’re in similar situations, I think.” Derek turned back to her, and she smiled ruefully. “Fallen in love with men we weren’t supposed to, that society tries to say we can’t love. I’ve seen so much death and horror, Derek, that love in whatever form it takes is beautiful. It’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

Derek smiled at her and then pulled away, kissing her hand. “Thank you for the dance, Nurse Reyes.”

“Anytime, Sergeant Hale.”

*

When Derek was discharged from the hospital, he was placed on the reserve line with Boyd, awaiting Isaac’s recovery. He was to be discharged two weeks later.

When Derek, Isaac, and Boyd finally got to the front line, a new guy had been assigned to the team to replace Ethan.

Private first class Jackson Whittemore from Beacon Hills.

*

_April 10th, 1943_

_S –_

_I’m sure you’ve already heard, but I’ll tell you anyway. Jackson has been assigned to my team. Yes, Lydia’s Jackson. Whittemore is the most arrogant sonofabitch I have ever had to command. I’m pretty sure he thinks he should be the team leader, not me. I had to put him in his place during the first few days, and it caused some tension with Boyd and Lahey. Things have been very different between us because of what happened to Jones. We are extremely tight-knit. But Whittemore is starting to come around. Honestly, I just think he’s scared._

_I will be on the front line for awhile again. Things shouldn’t be as intense as before, or at least we’re hoping. Spring is really beautiful here, and the local people are very kind. Lahey, Boyd, and I are starting to pick up some French, so when I get home, I can impress you with my French and you can impress me with your Polish._

_I’m glad your victory garden is going well. Some of the other men’s families have also planted them. You will have to keep me updated on what crops you become an expert at and how they taste. I would give anything for a ripe tomato fresh from your garden._

_There are two things of importance I need to tell you in this letter. First, after getting hurt and having no way to inform you, I added you as my emergency contact on my official record. I should have done that when I first shipped out not only because I love you, but because I have no one back home. You are all I have. So, in case of injury or death, you will now be notified. Secondly, I have included the earnings from my paycheck. I have nothing to do with it here. Spend it how you wish._

_I know your birthday has just passed. I thought of you every second of the day. I will send you a gift soon. I’m sorry I’m not prepared, but I did just lose three months of my life. Though that is not an excuse._

_The spring air makes me wish you were here with me, lying under the stars at night. Sometimes I sit outside at night and just stare at them, pretending that we are looking at the same ones. Whenever I see the moon, I think of how it shines down on me and then hours later, that same moon will shine down on you. It’s almost like it’s taking part of me to you. Like the song says:_

I'll be looking at the moon,  
But I'll be seeing you. __

_Happy birthday. I love you.  
Derek_

*

**  
April 24th, 1943**

**Derek,**

**I don’t know what to respond to first. Let’s go in order, then. Jackson? Jackson is on your team? I can’t believe it. Lydia has not told me, so either she doesn’t know or wanted me to find out from you. I hope he becomes a good soldier, mainly for Lydia’s benefit. She is extremely worried for him. We’ve become quite close because of it. As much as Scott and Allison are supportive, they don’t understand like Lydia.**

**You want to impress me with your French? I believe you have already done that on numerous occasions, Sergeant Hale. (And I’m still waiting on that list, by the way…)**

**The victory garden has grown so much! Apparently, I have a bit of a green thumb. I wish you could see it and eat from it. We’re still collecting cooking oil, scrap metal, rubber, and other things for the cause. We’re doing all we can.**

**I don’t know what to say in response to being your emergency contact, other than I am thrilled. And quite shocked. I hope I never get contacted, but at least I know that no news is good news from you. Second, I cannot accept this money. It’s yours, not mine. I have plenty of my own money (I do have a job, you know. I feel you forget that sometimes). I will put it in a jar to await your return home.**

**Spring has bloomed here, too. It’s beautiful. I think of you whenever I see the moon now. I will look at it and know your eyes have seen it, too.**

****I'll be looking at the moon,  
But I'll be seeing you. ****

**That’s our song now. The moon is ours.**

**It’s a small comfort, but I like that we can share that one thing. I wish we were lying underneath the stars. I would give anything to see you, to hear your voice, to see you smile, to touch you again. The days seem to be getting longer as I await the end of this awful war and your return home. It feels like it will never be over.**

**My birthday was good. I had dinner with my dad, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Danny.**

**I love you with all my heart,  
S**

*

_May 8th, 1943_

_S –_

_Please keep the money for yourself. I don’t need it. Or better yet, put it towards a house for us. We can buy a new house anywhere you want, in any city you want. I don’t care as long as you are there with me, because I will come home to you and we will be together forever._

_I think I’ve learned a few new things for our list (the other guys talk a lot about their various amorous experiences with the local girls). I have thought of doing some of them to you in great detail._

_The moon is half-full tonight. I like to think you have the other half._

_All my love,  
Derek_

**May 22nd, 1943**

**Derek,**

**You want to buy a house? For us? You just made me the happiest person in the entire world. The idea of sharing a home with you, of being with you forever, is the best thought I have ever had. I want to stay in Beacon Hills, near my dad, Mrs. McCall, Scott and Allison, and everyone else if we can. Why don’t we build a house on the Hale property?**

**I feel I’m at a disadvantage because you are doing things to me in your imagination I cannot do to you! Too bad those things wouldn’t get through the censors. I will have to await anxiously to have you show them to me.**

**Allison is expecting! They just found out. I can’t believe Scott and Allison are going to have a baby in the midst of all this war. I guess it is something positive to counteract all the negative. Mr. Harris, my old chemistry teacher, got drafted the other week. The garden has already been harvested a few times – we have carrots and cucumbers and tomatoes! I am so excited.**

**I love you,  
S**

*

_June 4th, 1943_

_S –_

_If you want to build a house on the Hale property, we will. I will do whatever you want. I’ve included another paycheck for our home fund. By the time I come back, maybe we will have enough to start._

_Tell Allison and Scott I said congratulations. And I’m thrilled about your vegetables. I wish I was there to taste them._

_I love you,  
Derek_

*

Derek finished addressing the letter to Stiles and slipped it and the money inside the envelope. The team was in the barracks, on their bunks, catching some much needed rest. They’d been in the field for a few days, and while by combat standards they were easy days, Derek was still exhausted. So were Boyd, Isaac, and Jackson.

He left the letter and Stiles’ letter to him on his bed while he walked to the latrine. When he returned, Jackson had the letters in his hand. Jackson looked up at him, revulsion on his face. He knew that Derek wrote letters to Stiles, just like he knew Isaac wrote to Scott and Allison, but he didn’t know about Derek and Stiles. He decided not to tell Jackson until later, after he’d proved he could be trusted.

Looks like that wasn’t going to happen.

“Stilinski?” Jackson sneered, Stiles’ letter gripped in his fist. “These are the kinds of letters you’re writing to Stilinski? You’re a fruit.”

“Hey,” Boyd said, jumping to his feet, followed by Isaac. “Shut your fucking mouth.” They stood between him and Jackson, and Derek’s head was swimming, trying to figure out a way to diffuse the situation. 

“Boyd,” Derek said. “That’s enough.” He glared at Boyd and Isaac, and they both stepped back, but remained close to Derek. “Jackson, it doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything.”

“I’m still your commanding officer,” Derek pointed out. “We’re still a team.”

“Yeah, but I could report you to _your_ commanding officer,” he said with an awful grin Derek wanted to punch off his face.

“What would that accomplish?” Derek asked. “It won’t change what Stiles and I have, it will only cause this team to break up, and – “

“Cause a fucking great soldier to possibly face charges,” Isaac interrupted, furious. He reached forward and snatched the letters out of Jackson’s hand, causing him to flinch.

“It’s the right thing to do,” Jackson said, brushing past them.

“Lydia knows,” Derek called out to Jackson’s retreating back. He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “She knows and she doesn’t care.” Jackson stormed out of the room.

*

The next morning, before Jackson had a chance to talk to the officers, the team got orders to go into the field. Derek pushed everything from the night out of his mind and instead focused on keeping his team alive. 

They spent a week in the field, making their way across French countryside, digging holes multiple times a day as they inched closer and closer to the German line. After a week of sitting and sweating in damp foxholes, they went into hand-to-hand combat with the Germans.

Artillery fire flew all around them, bombs were going off on each side of the battlefield, and Derek tripped over fallen soldiers from both sides as he pushed forward. Most of the time, he couldn’t even discern which side they were on.

He had just shot a man in the stomach, now a bleeding heap on the ground, when he scanned his surroundings. Jackson was to his left, struggling with a German over his gun. Shots were being fired as they tugged the gun back and forth, but unbeknownst to Jackson, two other German soldiers were about to ambush him from behind. 

“Jackson!” Derek yelled, his voice lost in the din of battle. He sprinted across the field, leaping over corpses and craters as he tried to get to Jackson. Derek shot a few rounds, but he was still too far away. He saw the two enemy soldiers running towards Jackson’s back, knives out, when he finally came into range. He shot both of them dead, then shot the one struggling with Jackson. The three bodies fell to the ground, leaving Jackson stunned and scared. “Are you okay?” Derek yelled when he reached him. 

“Yeah,” he said shakily. He looked at Derek, and Derek knew that look. It was the look of a soldier who just had his first brush with death, a soldier who finally knew first-hand the horrors of the battlefield. “You saved my life.”

“We can talk about it later,” Derek shouted, “let’s move!”

The platoon took the German line, Derek, Jackson, Boyd, and Isaac came through unscathed, and Jackson didn’t report Derek. The next time Derek received a letter from Stiles, Jackson asked how he was doing, and Derek knew that was his way of apologizing.

*

“What are you doing, Serg?” Boyd asked. Derek was seated outside on a crate, shaping a piece of coin silver into a circle.

“Making a ring.” Derek pointed with his knife to a group of soldiers sitting on the other side of the camp. “Snyder showed me how to do it. He made a bracelet for his wife.”

“Making it for Stiles?” 

Derek nodded. “His birthday was a few months ago, and I wanted to send him something.” Derek reached into his pocket and pulled out another ring, this one complete. “I’ve already made one. I’m making a pair.”

“Is it like some kind of engagement ring?” Boyd asked, turning the silver ring over in his hands.

Derek shrugged. “Maybe. That kind of thing doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“I think it matters a great deal. Even if you can’t get married in a church, doesn’t mean you can’t commit.” Derek smiled as Boyd handed the ring back. He put it carefully back into his pocket. “Think Erica would like something? A bracelet, ring, or necklace?”

“I think she’d probably like that a lot.”

Boyd reached down and grabbed some of the spare coins and a piece of aluminum lying on the ground by Derek’s boot.

*

The small parcel had Stiles curious; Derek had never sent him a package before. Stiles ripped it open eagerly, and pulled the folded letter out. But he ignored it for now. In the bottom of the parcel was a postcard with the view of the French countryside with something written across the bottom in French. On the back, Derek wrote, _I wish you were here._ Then, he pulled out something wrapped in a white handkerchief. When he opened the cloth, his breath caught in his throat.

Two silver rings were lying on top of one another. Stiles picked them up and looked at them closely. On the inside of the band, he could see writing and images from whatever the metal used to be. The outside was smooth, except for a tiny SS inscribed on one, and DH inscribed on the other. 

Stiles quickly opened the letter and read.

_Happy belated birthday! I’m sorry it took me several months to get this to you. Some of the guys make their sweethearts jewelry with the scrap we have lying around. I messed up a lot of metal before I got these right._

_One is for you, the other for me. I want you to keep mine safe until I return to collect it. I only thought that was fair._

_I love you so much. The ring is only a small token of my feelings for you._

_Happy birthday,  
Derek_

Stiles stared at the letter and the two rings in shock. Derek had made them. Derek had made a beautiful piece of jewelry. With his bare hands. During his down time. Stiles touched them both reverently, in awe of the craftsmanship that went into them. 

Stiles ran his thumb around the smooth edges, unable to fathom how Derek was able to craft something so beautiful from what appeared to be coins. Finally, Stiles took the one with the SS on it and slid it onto the ring finger of his right hand. It was a little big, but wouldn’t slide over his knuckle without some help. 

The silver band rested against his skin, the dull color contrasting with his pale finger. A commitment ring. It excited him the longer he looked at it, but it also made the longing in his chest that much worse.

He slid Derek’s ring over his finger, but it was way too big. He smiled, thinking of Derek’s hands, his larger fingers. He went over to his dresser and found a stray piece of leather, and slid the ring onto it before tying it around his neck. He looked at himself in the mirror, at Derek’s ring lying right above his heart. 

Just like Derek asked, he’d keep the ring close to him; he’d wear it every day until Derek came home to collect it.

*

Stiles was elbow deep in dirt as he worked on harvesting some of the vegetables from the garden. The sun was beating on his back and neck, causing him to sweat profusely. Lydia was on the other side of the garden, in a plain blouse and trousers, her hair covered with a red, white, and blue kerchief. She had dirt smeared on her face.

“I think we’re going to have more than we anticipated,” Lydia said, her basket already full of radishes and cabbages. His basket was almost as full of Lydia’s. “Are you coming to the school tonight for Knit for Victory?” 

“Yes. Even though you know how much I hate knitting,” Stiles said. “I’m terrible at it.”

“If you spent half as much time following the pattern as you did complaining, you’d be much better.”

After Lydia and Stiles finished harvesting all the vegetables that were ready, they dropped them off at the local Red Cross outpost, which Lydia had a hand in starting months ago. 

“So much food!” Jennifer Blake, the Red Cross worker who oversaw the post, said after Stiles and Lydia gave her the baskets. “We’ll get this out to the families in most need this afternoon.”

“I think we should expand out into the county,” Lydia suggested. “A lot of the farmers are shorthanded due to the draft. They’re having hard times, too.”

“I’ll send someone around tomorrow to make of list of families,” Jennifer said. “I had extra patterns retyped with carbon-paper so we’d have more copies. I also just received a shipment of both army and navy colored yarn. Let’s hope for a good turnout for tonight’s Knit for Victory.”

Stiles showed up at the school at six p.m. on the dot. There was already a large turnout. Enough of the experienced knitters had memorized the patterns, so they could knit socks, sweaters, and mufflers while allowing the less experienced knitters to use the patterns. Stiles just hoped there would be enough yarn.

The school kids were broken into two teams according to gender, a contest of girls versus boys. Of course, Lydia led the girls, and Stiles was in charge of the boys.

“All right,” Jennifer said as they sat in the back of the cafeteria, knitting needles poised. “The team who knits the most socks gets a prize. But remember, your socks have to be good, quality socks because they are going over to our hard-working servicemen fighting overseas. Socks are the most important thing we knit, so remember that as you work. Okay?” Everyone nodded. “Go!”

Stiles picked up the army khaki yarn and started knitting. Stiles was a lot of things, and he was good at a lot of things, but knitting was not one of them. He had to restart the sock four times, and finally, one of the little boys just grabbed the needle and yarn from him and started the sock for him. Lydia was already halfway through her first one.

“It’s an unfair advantage because you’ve been taught how to knit your whole life,” Stiles said. 

“Too bad,” Lydia said. 

Stiles had finished one pair of socks by the time Scott and Allison made their way over. Allison’s belly was already full and round, but she still moved with surprising agility for a woman in the family way. 

“Looks like the girls are gonna win the Knit Off,” Scott said as he compared the two piles of socks.

“Don’t matter who wins,” a little boy with blonde curls said as he worked slowly on a sock. “Mama said every sock is one more soldier who can keep walking. I want the socks I make to end up with my daddy.”

Stiles smiled, his heart aching because he knew that feeling. With every sock he hoped that they’d somehow make it to Derek, although he sent Derek socks frequently. Probably too frequently. Stiles figured that if Derek didn’t need more socks, maybe Isaac or Boyd got to use them.

Allison sat on a chair and started helping a small boy with his socks. He was sitting in her lap as she showed him how to hold the needles and how to make the stitches.

“Have you seen Danny?” Scott asked. “I saw him earlier at the diner, and he said he was supposed to be here.”

“No,” Stiles said. “He was still coming when we left work a few hours ago.”

“You don’t think anything happened, do you?” Allison asked. “It’s not like him to miss these things.”

“Maybe I should go check on him,” Stiles said, setting his half finished sock aside. It’s not like he was contributing much. All his socks ended up crooked with holes anyway.

“If you leave, you forfeit,” Lydia said, her fingers fluttering gracefully as she wielded the needles.

“I’ll take over,” Scott said, taking Stiles’ vacated seat. “I knit better than Stiles anyway.”

“ _Everyone_ knits better than Stiles,” Lydia replied.

Stiles walked across town towards Danny’s house. He only used Derek’s car when absolutely necessary, because gas was rationed and he hated using his ration cards for something so trivial. But his job sometimes made it where he had to travel out into the county or even up to San Francisco, so he saved all the gas for that. Besides, Danny didn’t live that far.

When he approached Danny’s house, he saw him sitting in the front porch swing. “Hey buddy, where ya been? We’re missing you down at the school.” Danny looked up, his face miserable. “Danny, what happened?”

“I got drafted.”

“Oh shit.” Stiles sat on the swing beside him. Danny felt like he did about the war: he supported it, he supported the soldiers, but he didn’t want to be part of it. Over the last year of working with Danny, Stiles had discovered that Danny also favored men, so that was another reason Danny didn’t want to join up.

“I have to report for inspection in two days.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, because he knew there was nothing to say. He just sat beside Danny, offering a bit of silent comfort that he knew didn’t help at all.

*

Stiles walked into the diner. Mrs. McCall was behind the counter, chatting with his dad. “Hey Dad, Mrs. McCall.” He waved around an envelope. “Got a letter from Danny.”

“What’s it say?” Scott asked, wiping his hands on his apron as he came from the kitchen.

“He’s in basic, and thinks he’ll end up in the Pacific somewhere,” Stiles said. He pulled out a picture from the envelope. It was of Danny in his uniform. “He sent us this for our board.”

“He looks so handsome,” Mrs. McCall said as she took it and walked over to the bulletin board. The board now covered almost the entire back wall of the diner. It was filled with pictures, postcards, and letters from the various soldiers stationed overseas with family in Beacon Hills. Derek’s official photo and the one of him, Isaac, Boyd, and Ethan were still in the center. Beside it was another photo of him and Isaac with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders in a French town. Letters from Derek and Isaac were pinned around the photos on the board, and the newest photos in that section were of Derek, Isaac, Boyd, and Jackson riding in the back of a Jeep with their helmets on. 

Mrs. McCall pinned the photo and letter near Derek and Jackson’s section, right in the middle of the wall. 

*

**October 2nd, 1943**

**Derek,**

**I know your birthday is in over a month, but I’m hoping you get this package around your birthday. I hope I didn’t send too much. Lydia and I had fun baking fudge again, and this time we tried different flavors. She sent some to Jackson, too. And we sent some to Isaac and Boyd – we couldn’t leave them out! Allison helped us bake, too. She’s huge now, and sat on a stool and made us bring her all the ingredients. I hope you enjoy the fudge.**

**I’ve also included pictures of everyone back home. There’s the victory garden, some from the Knit for Victory gatherings, some from the scrap drives, and various other things.**

**I wish I had something special to send you, but I don’t know what you can keep with you on the front line. Besides, nothing will ever beat the birthday present you made me. I still wear your ring around my neck and your star pin on my shirt every day. At least a part of you is always with me.**

**Think of New York. Think of the night we spent together, and imagine we are there again, celebrating your birthday in the same way. I would give anything to feel your touch again. It has been too long since I’ve heard your voice, felt your kiss, felt your hands on me.**

**Happy birthday,  
S**

*

_November 6th, 1943_

_S –_

_I got my birthday package a few days early. Thank you for everything. The fudge was an unexpected surprise, and one I needed. It has turned extremely cold here, and we’re all miserable, so this has made everything more bearable. The lotion and soap were needed more than you know (my hands are ugly, chapped, and cracked. You would hate them), and I always need socks. My CO jokes that I will be the only soldier in the war with good feet because of you._

_I especially appreciate the pictures. I love seeing what you’re doing in Beacon Hills – your victory garden looks amazing. We will start a farm when I return home, and all you will have to do is touch the vegetables to make them grow. Seeing your face gave me warmth that is impossible to find in these cold places. I miss you so much. You look older (in a good way!), and I’m afraid when I come home I won’t recognize you anymore. As usual, your beautiful eyes shine through each photo. What I would give to see them in person._

_I have been thinking of New York just like you asked. I have thought of that night so often over the past two years that I’m starting to believe I fabricated the whole experience._

_Everything you send me is special. I love anything that comes through the mail from you. It is special just because you sent it._

_I have a bit of good news. I got promoted to Staff Sergeant. My team is still the same though, which I was afraid would change. Just means I command a few more men, and get a bit of a raise and a few more stripes._

_I love you. Thank you for everything,  
Derek_

*

**December 1st, 1943**

**Derek,**

**Allison had her baby! A little boy they named Seth. He looks just like Scott, and is the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. They sent pictures to Isaac, so I know you will see him. Allison is doing great, and Scott has been walking around with a huge smile on his face for days.**

**I got a letter from Danny a few days ago. He’s somewhere in the Pacific, but he is fine. Matt Dahler, a kid I graduated with, got killed in combat. It doesn’t matter how well I knew them, every time I see a man walking down the street to somebody’s house with a telegram, I tear up. I didn’t even know Matt that well, and now he’s gone.**

**I’m so proud of your promotion! You deserve it! Pretend I am hugging and kissing you in congratulations.**

**Dad and I cut our Christmas tree down from the Hale property, as did Scott and Allison. I hope that’s okay. It made me feel close to you, though Dad was a little confused about why we were on your land. He was afraid we were trespassing. I told him you said it was fine.**

**It’s snowing here. Big, fat snowflakes that you can catch on your tongue (yes, I did that). Once again, I wish I was walking through the snow with you, hand in hand. I wish you had your arms around me, keeping me warm as snow melts into our coats.**

**If you don’t get another letter from me before Christmas, then Merry Christmas. I’ve included cookies for you this time, and more soap and lotion, but no socks. I think I’ve sent you enough for now (I don’t want your CO making fun of me!)**

**Yours forever,  
S**

**PS – I can’t believe it’s been almost two years since I’ve seen you. Sometimes it feels like yesterday, sometimes it feels like it happened in another lifetime.  
**  
*

_February 7th, 1944_

_S –_

_I apologize for the delay in writing. We have been out on the front lines. Lahey and I had a close call when a mortar hit the berm around our foxhole. Both of us were terrified that night. Lahey has become like my younger brother. He actually reminds me of one of my younger brothers, or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part. Regardless, this war has created a bond between us I think few will understand. He wants to come to Beacon Hills with me after the war. I think he wants to find a home and family, and I think he wants it to be me, Scott, and Allison._

_I wish I could explain how cold it is in the foxhole. There was snow everywhere, and my overcoat froze solid when I placed it over the foxhole to try and keep some warmth inside. Lahey offered to use his coat, but he was near frozen at that point. When we finally returned to camp, Lahey had to go to the hospital to be treated for frostbite. I had a mild case, but not severe enough to keep me out of the field. Lahey spent a week in the hospital before he could feel his toes. He’s fine now._

_Being at the hospital gave us cause to see Erica again. I wish you could meet her; you would love her._

_Happy Valentine’s Day (this package should arrive around that time). I included in this package a little plane I made out of spare bullet casings. It’s not much, but know that I think of you every day, every second I can._

_All my love,  
Derek_

*

**March 4th, 1944**

**Derek,**

**I sent socks to Isaac so he doesn’t get frostbite again. I’m so glad he’s okay. I hate the thought that you are so cold. It keeps me up at night. I have trouble sleeping these days. I just think about you and how this war just wages on, never ending. I feel like it will never end. Every day it gets worse. I’ve started having panic attacks again, and Lydia has been staying over some to help me through them. She feels like I do because Jackson’s letters read much like yours. We are so worried for you both.**

**I have the plane on my nightstand, along with the latest picture you sent me. I love it.**

**We’ve started planting the victory garden again. I’m not as enthusiastic this year, though Jennifer says that the community’s interest is higher than ever. Another guy from my class, Greenberg, was killed in action. I’m just sad. They say we shouldn’t tell soldiers these things, but you’re my best friend. I want to share everything with you, even my sorrows. I will try to be happy for you, though. I know you have it so much worse than me. But that is what makes me sad, because you are the best man I know, and you deserve so much more than that.**

**I love you,  
S**

*

_April 15th, 1944_

_S –_

_Things are pretty sad around here. Lahey got a letter the other day. His brother was killed in action in North Africa. He’s devastated because Camden was the only family he had left. He’s all alone. I’ve been trying to help him, because I know what it’s like to be the only surviving member of your family. I’ve talked with him a lot about my family, and a lot about Laura. I try not to think about her too much. I miss her so much. The grief is as fresh as it was the day I got my own letter about her death._

_I sometimes wonder why I’m still alive when so many people around me are dying._

_I love you,  
Derek_

*

**May 10th, 1944**

**Derek,**

**Please never say that ever again. Never question why you are alive. Just reading that line gave me a panic attack, and yes, I want you to know that because I never want you to think that. **

**You are still alive because you are meant to come home to me. I cannot go on if you are not in this world. I love you too much, and I have not kissed you nearly enough or spent enough time in your arms to have you ripped away from me.**

**Don’t ever think that again.  
S**

*

_June 21st, 1944_

_S –_

_This letter contains both happy news and sad news. Since Normandy, things have turned around. Things are looking up here, but that’s all I can say. We are very happy and have hope for the first time in a very long time._

_Since you’re also my best friend, I want to share everything with you, even the sad news. A nearby hospital was bombed last week. Erica was killed in the explosion, as was my friend Doctor Deaton. Boyd is beside himself with grief._

_I feel numb, Stiles. Ethan, Erica, Laura, Deaton, not to mention the other men I’ve known who’ve died, and Lahey’s brother…it’s too much for one man to take. It hurts. I’m sorry I made you so angry by asking why I’m still alive. You don’t know what it’s like, and I hope you will never know._

_Maybe the war will be over soon. I need you more than ever._

_Derek_


	7. July 1944

After work, Stiles went by the victory garden to pick a few of the blooming vegetables, and then dropped by the diner to check on Mrs. McCall.

“I brought you some vegetables,” Stiles said, placing the basket on the counter. “Carrots, beans, radishes, and some tomatoes.”

“Stiles, how many times have I told you I don’t need any food!” Mrs. McCall said with a hand on her hip. She pursed her lips. “Give it to people who need it.”

“I want to make sure you have enough food, and that this place has enough,” he said. 

She reached out and covered his hand. “Sweetheart, I have plenty of food. I have my own garden, and Allison is always bringing over extra food. I tell her to give it to her parents because I am fine. All my children take care of me.” She smiled at him, then kissed his cheek. 

“I’ll see if Dad needs anything. Maybe he knows some people who need food.” Stiles grabbed the basket again, and glanced at the sprawling board. “Anything new?”

“Letter from Danny and Isaac. That poor boy, losing his brother like that. I told him he’s got a place to stay in Beacon Hills as soon as he’s out of the service,” Mrs. McCall said. “How’s Derek? I haven’t heard from him in awhile.”

“He’s been better,” Stiles answered truthfully. “I’m worried about him.”

Mrs. McCall grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Sometimes, with the way she looked at him, Stiles wondered if she knew.

Stiles was walking through town later on his way to the sheriff’s station when he ran into Lydia. She looked frantic when she approached him. “Hey Lydia. How are – whoa, what are you doing?” She had his arm and was pulling him down the street, towards his house. 

“We need to talk, now.”

“Um, I’m kinda busy? I’m taking this to my dad at the station.”

“Forget that. I’ll take it later if I have to. Come on.” Stiles allowed her to drag him all the way to his house. She didn’t drop his arm until he was on the porch. 

Inside, he placed the basket of vegetables on the floor by the door before turning and staring at Lydia. She removed her hat and gloves, setting them on the coffee table. “What is so important? You’re kind of scaring me.”

“I got a letter from Jackson.”

“Is everything okay?” Stiles exclaimed, but she shook her head and pulled the letter from her small handbag. She sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her. Stiles sat down, and she opened the flap of the envelope, but didn’t pull out the letter.

“He left me a secret message,” Lydia said, pointing to the flap of the envelope. Stiles glanced at it and saw writing, but would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking.

“How in the world did you know that?”

Lydia glared at him. “I’m a genius. Discovering a secret message when Jackson left me all the code in the letter wasn’t difficult.” She scoffed, and Stiles rolled his eyes. “The team has five days leave at the beginning of July. It’s the first leave they’ve had since basically the war started, but since most of France has been secured, they’re able to have a bit of R&R.” At Stiles’ face, she sighed. “I also read the papers, the _New York Times_ and many European ones, so that’s how I know these things.”

“Okay, so Jackson is going on leave. So what?”

“Not just Jackson, but Derek. So, we’re going to England.” 

Stiles just stared at her. She had definitely gone crazy. That was the only explanation. “We’re not going to England.”

“Yes, we are.”

“You do realize there’s a war going on? I know that we’re winning now, and things are a lot better, but we can’t exactly take a ship or a plane. They’re only used for military purposes.”

“Stiles,” Lydia cut in. “With the right amount of money you can get anywhere. I have everything planned out. Jackson and Derek will be in England, so we’re going to England to see Jackson and Derek.”

*

Lydia was as good as her word. Stiles found himself on a train bound for Boston, where he and Lydia would board a privately owned merchant ship that would take them across the Atlantic. They had fake papers claiming they were Mr. and Mrs. Sam Smith, newlyweds. The ship captain didn’t ask too many questions after Lydia’s generous payment. 

On the ship crossing the Atlantic, they shared a cabin. Stiles spent most of his time in the room, reading. Lydia was getting ready for bed the second day of the journey when she said, “You should be happier.”

“This is the stupidest thing I have ever done,” Stiles said. “You do realize we could die. A German U-boat could blow us out of the water at any time.”

“Yet here you are, on the ship anyway.”

“I guess I couldn’t give up the opportunity of seeing Derek after two and a half years. Besides, I wasn’t going to let you go all the way to England by yourself. Especially when you were paying.” Stiles gave her a crooked grin, but still felt his stomach in knots.

Lydia crawled into bed beside him and wrapped her arms around him. “Everything will be okay,” she whispered against his hair. “One day with them is worth the risk.”

“Unless we get blown out of the ocean.”

She slapped his cheek, and he rubbed it gingerly where it stung.

*

The moment they stepped onto English soil in Liverpool, Stiles couldn’t believe he was in a foreign country. He never thought his life would be anything but Beacon Hills, and here he was, standing at the harbor with Lydia.

They took a train to London from Liverpool. With every passing moment, the realization hit Stiles that he was going to get to see Derek again. Derek would be in front of him, in the flesh, alive and warm and breathing. Stiles would get to touch him, smell him, hear him laugh, feel him underneath him. 

But Stiles also felt nervous. What if Derek was different? What if he was different? 

“You look like you’re going to throw up,” Lydia said quietly. Stiles turned to her. “Stop panicking.”

“It’s been two and a half years, Lydia,” Stiles said. “I know we say we love each other, but what if what we had that summer is gone? What if it was nothing but a passing fancy?”

Lydia reached across the short distance between them on the train and grabbed his hand. “He loves you, and you love him. That’s all that matters.”

It had started to rain by the time the train pulled into King’s Cross Station. They both had packed light on purpose, with only a suitcase each, and Stiles carried them both from the train and out of the station as they tried to hail a cab in the rain.

By the time they got to the hotel, Stiles was wet, shivering, and shaking with apprehension. Jackson was waiting for them in the hotel lobby, reading a book in a chair. When he saw Lydia, his face lit up and he tossed the book to the floor. After a quick reunion kiss, Jackson led them upstairs to their rooms. 

Stiles heart beat in his ears as the elevator ascended, bringing him closer and closer to Derek. Right when his breathing threatened to overwhelm him, Lydia reached over and grabbed his hand, calming him again. Stiles followed behind them as Jackson led them down the hall, and Stiles ran a hand through his wet hair. His clothes were also damp, and he realized just how awful he probably looked.

The hotel room was small, just a bed, a table, and a bathroom. But none of that mattered when Stiles looked over and saw Derek sitting on the bed, looking nervous, angry, and unsure. Derek stood up, and they just stared at each other for a few weighted moments. Derek’s hair was different, buzzed short, his face clean-shaven. He looked ten years older.

“Hey, soldier boy.”

“Hey.”

At the sound of Derek’s voice, Stiles dropped his suitcase as he ran across the room and leapt into Derek’s arms. “Oh my god, you’re really here,” Stiles said, arms and legs wrapped around Derek’s frame, his face buried against his neck. He breathed him in, the warmth of Derek’s skin against his damp face. Derek’s arms were clamped around him tightly, and Stiles realized he was dropping kisses against his hair.

Stiles turned his head and caught Derek’s mouth with his own. The kiss was needy and desperate, sloppy in its urgency. He was kissing Derek. Derek was right there, holding him, his body solid against him. Stiles didn’t know how long they kissed, but when they finally broke apart, he was breathless.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Derek asked when they regained their wits. Stiles untangled himself from around Derek and stood back on the floor. “Do you know how dangerous and incredibly fucking _stupid_ coming across the Atlantic was?”

“Hell of a way to thank me,” Stiles responded angrily. “I risked my life to see you!”

“I didn’t ask you to!” They both looked over at Jackson and Lydia, who were watching them in amusement. “Whittemore, I’m going to kick your ass for this.”

“He’s been threatening to do that since he found out what I’d suggested.” Jackson kissed the side of Lydia’s head and held her tighter. 

Stiles turned back to Derek. “If I’d have known you’d be so upset about me coming to see you, I would have saved myself nine days worth of travel!” he yelled, hurt.

“Oh Stiles,” Derek said, pulling Stiles into his arms. “If something happens to you before you get home safely, I’ll never forgive myself.” Stiles let himself melt against Derek’s chest, reveling in the feel of Derek’s arms around him, in the sound of his heart beating underneath his ear.

The four of them went to an early dinner in the city, then came back with a bottle of wine. Jackson poured himself and Lydia generous glasses, but Stiles and Derek declined. Stiles didn’t want anything to keep him from enjoying every moment he had with Derek. 

“This should be a party!” Jackson shouted, turning on the radio. Music floated into the tiny room, loud brass and percussion. Jackson grabbed Lydia and pulled her close. They started dancing, so Stiles grabbed Derek’s hands. Derek gave him a long-suffering look, but he let Stiles lead him around the room. They danced to the quick rhythms, spinning around and holding each other happily. Derek pulled Stiles flush against him, his arm low on Stiles’ waist, their fingers laced together at their shoulders, as he spun Stiles around. Derek turned his face and nosed along Stiles’ hairline, and Stiles caught a glimpse of Lydia and Jackson over Derek’s shoulder. Jackson held Lydia close, and she had her head thrown back, red curls cascading down her back as she laughed.

The song changed to a slower melody, soft pianos and trumpets playing a sensual tune. Derek held Stiles close, arms tight around his body. Stiles leaned his head against Derek’s and closed his eyes, focusing on the feel of Derek against him as they danced.

The four of them laughed and talked as they danced around the room, and Stiles felt at that moment that it was like they had somehow stepped into another dimension where there was no war or despair. His heart was so happy he thought it was going to burst.

About an hour later, when they tired of dancing, Jackson and Lydia stumbled down the hall to their room, leaving Derek and Stiles alone for the first time since they’d been reunited.

“I thought they’d never leave,” Stiles said, reaching out and grabbing Derek’s hand. 

“Lydia’s lovely,” Derek said. “She’s everything you and Jackson have described and more.”

Stiles reached out and ran a hand over Derek’s short cropped hair, his smooth face. “It’s so weird, seeing you this way.” His fingers brushed over Derek’s cheek and forehead. “You look so weary, Derek. And so much older.”

“You look older, too,” Derek said. “You were a kid when I left you at the train station. You’re a man now.”

“Has it really been so long?” Stiles said almost to himself. 

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” Derek said, leaning forward and kissing Stiles again. Derek picked Stiles up around the waist and carried him over to the bed, dropping him back against it. “We have to leave day after tomorrow,” Derek said as he undid the buttons on Stiles’ shirt. “I want to spend every moment of that time with you.”

“You better.” As soon as Derek had Stiles’ shirt open, he noticed the ring hanging on the piece of leather. Derek fingered it for a moment, then grabbed Stiles’ hand and lifted it to his face. “What do you think?” Stiles asked.

“It looks better on you that I thought it would,” Derek said. “It looks perfect.”

“It is perfect,” Stiles said as Derek ran his thumb over the silver band. Derek had a look of awe on his face, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing was real. He lowered his mouth and kissed Stiles’ finger. Stiles pulled the collar of his shirt back up and showed Derek the star pin. “I wear them every day.”

“I love you so much,” Derek said, kissing Stiles passionately as he intertwined their hands. When Stiles pulled away, he slipped the leather over his head and untied it, then took the ring off the string. He lifted Derek’s right hand and slid the ring on his finger. 

“There, we match. It’s like it’s supposed to be.” Stiles put his hand beside Derek’s and admired them. “You couldn’t have gotten me a more perfect ring.”

“Stiles, it’s not worth anything. It’s made from a French coin I found on the ground.”

“Derek, you could buy me the most expensive ring in the entire world and it wouldn’t mean as much. It’s priceless. I’ll wear it until the day that I die.”

Derek’s face broke into a wide smile and he resumed kissing Stiles fervently. After Stiles removed Derek’s shirt, Stiles pushed himself into a seated position. He ran his fingers over Derek’s chest. “You’re so skinny,” he said, his fingers poking at the bones of Derek’s ribcage. Stiles felt himself overcome with emotion, and he looked up into Derek’s face. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this.”

“Stiles, it’s okay.” Derek pulled Stiles to him and held him closely, Stiles curled in his lap.

After a few quiet moments, Stiles laughed. “I should be comforting you, not the other way around,” he said quietly. “You’re so much stronger than me.”

“I’m not stronger,” Derek said. “I’ve just learned how to steel myself to it. Otherwise, you die. Lahey was a lot like you and Scott when I first met him. This war has changed him.”

Stiles pulled back and wiped his damp eyes. “Is he here? Do I get to meet him and Boyd?”

Derek shook his head. “They went to Paris. I couldn’t tell you this in the letters, but Boyd and Erica were engaged. After the war, they were going to stay in France.” Derek’s face looked so sad, and Stiles reached out and cupped it. Derek shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about that. I just want to do all the things I’ve been thinking about doing to you.”

Stiles kissed him again, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders and over his back. His fingers touched scar tissue, where he remembered feeling smooth skin before. “Shrapnel,” Derek said, and Stiles hadn’t even realized he had stopped kissing him. “From the bomb that landed me in the hospital.” Derek nudged Stiles, and he lifted up so Derek could move from underneath him. He stood up and unbuttoned his trousers, and Stiles could tell now that he was standing up and wearing only his underwear just how skinny Derek had gotten. He still had lean muscle, but none of the bulk he had before. There were tiny scars and burns on his skin, a few healing scabs.

Derek lay face down on the bed and cradled his face on his arms. Stiles stared open-mouthed at his back and legs. The once smooth flesh of his back was dotted with thin scars, slashes of puckered, faded tissue marring the flat planes. The dark ink of the triskelion tattoo was marred by deep chunks of flesh that had been torn out of Derek’s back from the shrapnel, now healed over. Stiles ran his finger over the tattoo’s outline, now with two pink, scarred sections interrupting the flow of the curling lines. The backs of his thighs were the same way, though not as many marks covered the surface, and Stiles knew he’d find at least a few underneath Derek’s underwear.

“You’re speechless,” Derek said, “that’s never good.”

“I’m trying not to fall apart,” Stiles answered honestly. “Derek…this is not what I imagined.” Truthfully, it wasn’t that bad. There weren’t that many scars littering his back, only around ten strips of various sizes. The longest one ran along Derek’s lower back, from his left hip and up across his spine to his right side. As Stiles studied him, there were smaller scars on his body; one his shoulder, some on his arms. Stiles lifted Derek’s hand when his eyes caught sight of his wrist.

“Caught some shrapnel because my wrists were exposed this winter,” Derek explained. “Is it hideous?”

“No,” Stiles said, leaning down and kissing two of the scars on his back. “It just reminds me of how lucky I am to have you alive.”

Derek rolled onto his back and pulled Stiles on top of him. “I want to make love to you,” Derek said. “I want to make love to you until I have to return to France.”

“Good, because I want the same thing.”

Derek grabbed the bottle of lotion from his bag, the bottle Stiles had sent him months ago. It was almost empty. Stiles got up and walked over to his suitcase. “Save your lotion,” Stiles said, popping the locks and opening the top, “besides, I brought you more.”

“Of course you did,” Derek replied fondly. 

Stiles pulled a small container of petroleum jelly from the bottom of his suitcase and tossed it onto the bed. “Saved up my ration cards and bought us some. I didn’t know if we’d have any, and you can take it back with you.”

“I love you,” Derek said, pulling Stiles on top of him and kissing him deeply. “You’re the kindest, most thoughtful man I’ve ever met. None of the other guys’ sweethearts even compare to mine.”

“So I’m your sweetheart?” Stiles smiled against his mouth, sliding his arms around Derek’s neck.

“As far as the US Army knows, you are a young diner waitress nicknamed Stiles.”

“I haven’t been a waiter for awhile now.”

“I know, Isaac tells me what Scott puts in his letters that you can’t tell me.” Derek cupped his face. “You’re now a reporter revolutionizing Beacon Hills, and a budding farmer.” He smiled up at Stiles, and he was so beautiful Stiles had to swallow over a lump in his throat.

Derek kissed him again and sat up against the headboard, pulling Stiles into his lap. They kissed as Derek fingered him, just one finger inside causing Stiles to moan aloud. He had thought about this so many times over the last two years, but nothing in his memory compared to the feeling of Derek’s fingers inside him, sliding in and out and teasing him. Derek’s tongue was hot in his mouth as he got used to the sensation, distracting him from the slightly painful burn as Derek slipped another finger inside to stretch him.

“You feel so good,” Derek whispered against his mouth. “Fuck, I’ve wanted this every night since I left you.”

“It’s all I’ve thought about, too,” Stiles said, riding Derek’s fingers as they fucked in and out of him steadily, opening him slowly. “I’ve almost forgotten how your cock feels inside me.”

Derek pulled back and looked at Stiles in surprise. “Where’d you learn to talk that way?” He slapped Stiles’ ass playfully. “So dirty.”

“I’m not the only one who has learned a thing or two over the past few years.”

“Oh?” Derek asked, pushing a third finger inside, and Stiles threw his head back, keening. “God, you’re so tight. I’m about to come right now.”

Stiles couldn’t think as he lifted himself up and pushed back down on Derek’s fingers, feeling them twist inside him, teasing and stretching and _not enough_. He needed more, he needed Derek.

“Please,” Stiles said breathlessly, “I want you to fuck me.”

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” Derek said, removing his fingers and scooping out more lubricant from the jar. Stiles kissed Derek impatiently as he slicked himself, and Stiles moved so the tip of his leaking cock could drag across Derek’s stomach for some friction. He was about to explode if Derek didn’t touch him soon.

Derek grabbed his hips and guided him onto his cock, the tip nudging against Stiles’ opening tantalizingly. Then, too slowly, Derek helped Stiles lower himself down over his shaft. The stretch burned and hurt, but it felt so good that he didn’t care. Derek was there, Derek was inside him. Stiles rolled his hips and thrust back down, and Derek was everywhere, filling him and touching him and kissing him and making him whole for the first time in years. 

*

Later, they were in the bathtub, the water filled to their chests. Stiles’ back was against the edge, and Derek was sitting between his legs and leaning back against him, relaxing against his warmth. Derek still hadn’t quite accepted that Stiles was real, that he was there with him. He was afraid that he was lying in an army hospital somewhere, experiencing morphine-induced hallucinations. But it was real. He was there with Stiles, and he was living solely in the moment. If the war had taught him anything, it was that everything was ephemeral. 

Stiles ran his fingers up and down Derek’s arms, trailing water along his skin, then across his short, bristly hair. Stiles’ breath was even, the rise and fall of his chest constant against his back. Derek listened to the sound of it, the only sound in the quiet room, and turned his head to kiss the inside of his arm. Stiles’ body was a warm solid wall behind him, and Derek was glad for it. It made Stiles seem that much more real, and he needed to feel Stiles, hear the sound of his breathing, of his heartbeat, see his long limbs sticking from out of the water. Even after being inside of him earlier, it still wasn’t enough. Derek wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from being separated from Stiles for so long.

“How much have you left out of your letters?” Stiles asked as he scratched blunt nails across his chest. 

“Too much.” Derek told him about Ethan being gay, about Erica and Boyd falling in love, and told him a few of the horrors that he couldn’t write in letters. “I can’t imagine talking about this with anyone else,” Derek said after he’d finished. “You’re the only person I can bear to admit the things I’ve seen and done to.” He shifted in the water, sloshing some of it over the sides of the tub. He sat forward, and Stiles ran his hands down his back, underneath the water and around his hips before he slid them back up to his shoulders and started massaging them. Derek sighed and relaxed into Stiles’ warm grip.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Stiles said. “I don’t want to upset you. I just want to share in your pain, too, maybe carry some of it for you.”

“Just being here makes me feel pounds lighter.” Derek reached up and covered Stiles’ hand with his own. “Are you scared you’re going to get drafted?” he asked as Stiles started washing his back. “You’ve been incredibly lucky.”

“I know,” Stiles said, scrubbing the rag down Derek’s spine. “I’m scared every time I open the mailbox. I don’t know how I haven’t been drafted yet. I know if it happens I’ll die.”

“You don’t know that,” Derek said, shifting around in the tub so they were facing one another. He curled his fingers around Stiles’ neck and looked at Stiles’ face, even more beautiful than he remembered, his eyes brighter and more magnetic, his lips fuller. All his memories of Stiles paled in comparison to the beautiful man sitting across from him. Derek never wanted Stiles to see war, never wanted him to see the horrors he experienced almost every day. There was a light in Stiles’ eyes, a spark that he knew combat would extinguish. He saw that spark slowly die in Isaac’s eyes day by day. “But I never want you to have to find out. I want you to remain pure. I don’t want you to know what it feels like to have so many deaths on your hands.”

“Do you think the war will end soon?” Stiles asked. “I am so scared every day.”

“It shouldn’t be much longer. At least they hope. If they can take Paris, then I think the war will end soon afterwards. It’ll be a sign.” Stiles leaned forward and kissed him lightly.

“Danny says it’s horrible in the Pacific. I can’t wait for you to meet him. He’s like us. He took me to San Francisco and we went to a few clubs that were exclusively for homosexuals. Apparently, I am rather desirable.” Stiles grinned, and Derek saw a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Did you find some attractive guy to find comfort in?” Derek asked.

“There’s not a man on the face of the planet who could hold a candle to you. You’re the only man I ever want touching me. I hope you didn’t find any French men to comfort you.”

“Nope. Just Lahey.” They laughed, and Stiles pulled Derek into his lap, kissing him and wrapping his fist around his cock. “You’re a lot more sure of yourself than when I left.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about what to do,” Stiles joked. He kissed his way down Derek’s cheek and under his jaw, then bit down on the tight chord in his neck. “So, about this list…”

“Should we try something?” Derek asked as he tugged the shell of Stiles’ ear between his teeth. “Some of the things the French girls taught the guys?”

“I want to do everything with you.” 

Derek pulled away and told Stiles to flip over onto his hands and knees. “Are you sure you’ll let me do whatever I want?”

“Yes, Derek, I’m all yours.”

Derek smiled and dropped kisses across Stiles’ shoulders, down his spine, around his lower back. Then, he hooked his thumbs between his cheeks and spread them apart.

“Oh god,” Stiles said. 

“I haven’t even done anything,” Derek said, chuckling.

“My mind is just going all over the place. Please, continue.” 

Derek laughed a few more times as he studied Stiles, spread open before him, water halfway up his thighs, the head of his cock skimming the water’s surface. Then, Derek leaned forward and dragged the flat of his tongue across Stiles’ puckered opening.

“Oh fuck, fuck, oh, nguhh,” Stiles uttered, not even forming words as Derek licked across his hole over and over. Stiles smelled musky and like _Stiles_ , and he tasted like soap and something slightly tangy. Derek couldn’t get enough as he licked over him, feeling the way he contracted and relaxed underneath his tongue. And the sounds Stiles made…they were filthy and the most delicious thing Derek had ever heard. Derek circled his tongue around the ring of muscle slowly, Stiles’ entire body quivering beneath him as he moaned and whined, and then he dipped the tip of his tongue inside of Stiles. “Fuck!” Stiles exclaimed, his arm shooting out of the water to grip the edge of the tub as he pushed his ass back against Derek’s face. Derek smiled and licked into him even deeper, tongue fucking him as Stiles moaned and muttered a stream of curses. When Derek finally reached around Stiles and tugged on his cock, Stiles came immediately with a shout. 

Derek immediately removed his tongue and replaced it with his cock, sliding deep inside Stiles’ loose body and thrusting a few times before he came buried inside him. When Derek pulled out, they both flopped down into the water, water splashing over the sides.

“Bless those French maidens,” Stiles exclaimed after he regained his breath. “Because oh my god, I would have never thought of that.”

Derek just smiled.

*

Falling asleep in Stiles’ arms made Derek feel safer than he’d felt since he’d set foot in Europe. Stiles held him close, his arms warm and secure around him, protecting him from everything going on outside the hotel walls, even if just for a few precious hours. Derek drifted off with his head on Stiles’ chest, Stiles’ heartbeat loud in his ears. That night he didn’t have any nightmares.

The next day passed too quickly. They stayed in bed, ordering room service and not bothering to get dressed. When Derek set the tray outside his door, he saw a similar tray outside the door across the hall and realized Jackson and Lydia must have had the same idea.

They took another bath, and Derek let Stiles dry him off. “I’m getting spoiled,” Derek said as Stiles ran the towel over his legs. “Full baths, where I actually get clean, and warm water. Warm food!” Stiles wrapped his fingers around Derek’s ankles, his thumb rubbing across his anklebone. 

“Your feet don’t look as bad as I imagined,” Stiles said before lifting his chin and inspecting Derek’s hands. They were calloused and cracked and rough. “Your hands are worse.”

“It’s all those socks,” Derek joked.

Stiles stood up, scowling. “I’ll stop sending you socks then.”

“I’m joking.”

“I know.”

Derek kissed Stiles lightly, just soft touches of lips and against lips. He tried to extend every moment, tried to live completely in the now as he enjoyed Stiles being in front of him. 

They ended up stretched out on the bed, lying face to face with their hands clasped between them. They were so close that their noses bumped, and all Derek could see was Stiles’ incredible eyes. Derek hooked his leg over Stiles’ legs, pulling him as close as possible.

“Do you remember, back when we first started writing to each other,” Stiles started, “during the summer and you asked me my deepest fear?” Derek nodded. “Do you want to know the answer?”

“Of course.” 

“I used to be afraid my life would be nothing, that I would never fall in love, never do anything exciting, never leave Beacon Hills. And then I met you.” Stiles smiled and ran his hand over Derek’s arms, his fingers leaving warmth on Derek’s skin wherever they touched. “And look at me now. I’m in London with the man I love.”

“I’m glad I saved you from an ordinary life.”

“I am, too.” Stiles bit his lip before continuing. “The only thing I’m scared of now is you not coming home. I think I can face anything as long as you are by my side. If you die…” He shook his head unable to continue. In that moment, Derek hated everything, hated the war and life and fate for letting them meet each other when they did. He knew that Stiles had been sad since he’d left, but he didn’t realize it was this bad.

“If I die, you have to promise me that you will live a happy life,” Derek said, voice pleading. “I can’t bear the thought of you ruining your life because I die.”

“Derek, do you not understand?” Stiles sat up and stared down at him. Derek rolled onto his back so he could look up at him. “You’re it for me. There will never be anyone else. I’m so in love with you that the thought of a day without you physically pains me.” Derek noticed that Stiles’ thumb was caressing the ring on his finger, his other hand reaching up and grabbing for the necklace around his neck that no longer was there. “You’re it.”

Derek sat up and wrapped his arms around him in a fierce embrace, crushing their mouths together. He felt so many emotions, wanted to say so many things, but he didn’t have the words. He tried to get it across with his mouth. “My biggest fear used to be that I would end up alone,” Derek whispered against Stiles’ mouth. “I was terrified that I would never find anyone after my family died. But then I happened to eat lunch at a diner one day, and my waiter was the most annoying kid I’d ever met in my entire life. He just wouldn’t shut up and leave me alone, and I fell in love with him before I finished my hamburger.” Stiles stared at him, grinning stupidly. “I like to think Laura led me to you, so I wouldn’t be alone.”

“What’s your biggest fear now?”

“That something will take you away like everything else I’ve ever loved.”

“That will never happen.” Stiles held Derek’s face between his hand and looked at him seriously. “Derek Hale, we are going to have a happy life together, despite society and anything else that gets in our way. We will live to be old men who will sit on the porch of our farmhouse in rocking chairs and hold hands and watch the sunset every day. We will have that,” Stiles said. “We will have a life together.”

Derek grabbed Stiles around the waist and rolled them until he was on top of him, looking down into Stiles’ face. “I can’t get over that you’re really here,” Derek said. “I just want to stare at you so I won’t forget exactly how you look.”

“I know. I’ve thought about your eyes every night since you’ve left, but nothing is like seeing them for myself.”

Derek looked down at Stiles, tracing the moles on his cheek with his fingertip. He felt like laughing and crying at the same time because as wonderful as this moment was, it was going to end. He was going to board a train and go back to France, to the frontline, back to death and destruction, leaving everything that was good in the world in this bed.

“You still with me?” Stiles asked.

“I want you to make love to me,” Derek said. Stiles looked up at him in shock. “I want to feel you inside me.”

“Are you asking because you’re afraid you might die?” Stiles ran his hand over Derek’s smooth face.

“Partially. But I also want to feel you in every possible way.” Derek brushed his lips against Stiles’ cheek. “You don’t have to if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”

“I definitely want to,” Stiles said with a small smile. “It was on my list.” They sat up and Derek reached for the jar, but Stiles stopped him. “Before we do it though, I want to tell you that I’m not doing it in case you die. I’m doing it because I love you and want you to feel the same way I felt when you made love to me.” 

Stiles leaned forward and kissed him, then they rearranged themselves so Derek was lying on his stomach. Stiles took his time, going slow as he ran his hands over Derek’s back and kissed his scars. Then, Stiles slid a finger inside Derek, and Derek moaned quietly into the pillow. Stiles’ fingers were long and deep inside him, and soon Derek was begging for more. 

When Stiles pushed into him the first time, Derek gripped the headboard with one hand as loud sounds he’d never made before escaped his mouth. Stiles paused when he was flush against Derek’s hips, allowing them both a chance to catch their breath. Derek felt like he was going to burst, going to slowly unravel under Stiles’ hands. 

The feeling of Stiles thrusting his hips had Derek whispering curses and endearments and things he didn’t even remember, his hand wrapped so tightly against the headboard he was afraid it would shatter underneath his touch. Stiles raised his hand and covered Derek’s, interlacing their fingers as he quickened his pace. Derek pushed back, meeting him thrust for thrust, his entire body tingling as small explosions coursed through his veins. He had never felt like this before, felt like Stiles could maybe heal him one day, the remedy for every ache and hollow place in his soul. 

When Stiles reached around and wrapped his fingers around Derek’s shaft, Derek thought he was going to die right there. It was so intense it almost hurt, and he couldn’t figure out whether to thrust into Stiles’ hand or push back deeper onto his cock. He ended up in an erratic rhythm that Stiles matched as best he could, then everything faded away and it was just him and Stiles. Stiles made everything go away – the war, the loss, the fear, the pain. Derek gave himself over completely to Stiles, let him inside of him and relinquished control for just a few moments where Derek didn’t have to think or act or make a decision. He just let himself feel as Stiles thrust into him. White exploded behind Derek’s eyes as he came harder than he ever had before, screaming as he clawed at the sheets and Stiles’ hand continued stroking him through his orgasm. He felt Stiles’ orgasm fill him somewhere on the edge of his consciousness, and he realized as he came back down that he was completely covered in sweat, his eyes were damp, and Stiles was talking to him. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked as Derek dropped to the bed. Derek nodded and mumbled something into the pillow. He’s pretty sure they weren’t actual words. “I love you, Derek.” Stiles kissed Derek’s neck, then licked the sweat from his shoulders. 

“Thank you,” Derek said awhile later, when he felt like talking. His voice was hoarse and scratchy, making him sound wrecked.

“For what?” Stiles said. He was still laying on top of him, his soft cock still warm and comforting inside him.

Derek finally shifted and started to roll on his side, and Stiles pulled out, and Derek hissed in discomfort. There was a deep ache inside him, and he already felt the beginnings of soreness creeping into his muscles. Stiles got off the bed and went into the bathroom and came back with a rag. Tenderly, he cleaned between Derek’s legs and then ran the cool rag between his cheeks. Derek sighed.

When Stiles crawled back into bed, he wrapped his arms around Derek’s body. Derek closed his eyes, completely drained, both emotionally and physically. “That was amazing,” Derek finally said.

“I could kinda tell,” Stiles teased. 

“I love you so much,” Derek said.

“I love you, too.”

Awhile later, after they had been lying together quietly, just listening to the sounds of the city outside the window, Derek said, “I want you to start building us a house.”

“What?” Stiles said, waking from where he’d dozed off. 

“I want you to start building us a house on my family’s land. I don’t care where, as long as it’s not too close to where our house used to be. I should have enough money.”

“Derek, you’ve sent me a lot of money,” Stiles said. “Between what I’ve saved from your paychecks and what I’ve saved myself, we have plenty of money.”

“Then build our house,” Derek said, propping himself up on his elbows. “When I come home, we will have our own home.”

Stiles smiled, and Derek’s heart melted. “I love the sound of that.” He looked a bit embarrassed, then asked, “Do you still have that stuff I gave you when you left?”

“The picture and the heart?” Stiles nodded. “They’re in my uniform. I always have them, unless I’m on the battlefield. I don’t want anything to ever happen to them.”

“That reminds me, I brought you something.” Derek unwrapped himself from Stiles as he went to dig something else from his suitcase. He ran and jumped back on the bed, causing Derek to bounce. He grabbed Derek’s hand and placed the tiny, stuffed wolf in his palm. “The wolf from the fair. You told me to keep it when you left for Europe, so now I’m giving it to you so you can bring it home with you.”

Derek looked at the small toy, rather unremarkable and obviously cheaply made. He thought of that night, at how nervous he’d been, how Stiles had no clue that he’d been flirting with Derek that night. “Those two people seem like strangers,” he said quietly.

“Hey, they’re right here.” Stiles placed his hand over Derek’s heart. “We’re still those people, but now I know without a doubt I love you.”

“Let’s stay up all night just holding each other,” Derek said as he pulled Stiles to him. Stiles settled easily in his arms.

“Good idea. We can sleep on the train.”

Stiles took the stuffed wolf and sat it on Derek’s stomach, and kept it there as they held each other and talked, both ignoring the fact that each second that passed brought them closer to the time they’d have to part yet again.


	8. 1944-1945

_August 30th, 1944_

_S –_

_I’m sure you heard on the radio or saw in the papers that Paris has been liberated. Things are looking up! But there is still a long ways to go._

_Lahey and Boyd taught me how to play Euchre the other night. Whittemore was terrible, and Boyd and I laughed at him mercilessly._

_I’m sorry this letter is so short. There’s not much I can say to you right now. I hope that you are well. I miss you so much, now more than ever._

_I love you,  
Derek_

*

**November 2nd, 1944**

**Derek,**

**Guess what? Lydia’s expecting! I’m sure you’ve already heard, but I wanted to tell you anyway. She is ecstatic, especially since the baby will be around the same age as Seth (Allison and Scott’s little boy). Seth is starting to walk, by the way.**

**Things are fine on the homefront. People are hopeful that the war will be over by Christmas, or at least the very beginning of next year. We received news that our old chemistry teacher, Mr. Harris, who had been MIA for awhile, was reported dead. It just never gets easier, even with all the victories and the hope, there’s still death. I hope it’s not too cold where you are. Tell Isaac to watch his toes! We want him to get out of the war with all of his body parts intact.**

**Pretend that I am there with you, with my arms wrapped around you to keep you warm.**

**I love you,  
S**

*

Stiles walked into his father’s house without knocking, and pulled off his scarf and hat to shake away the snow. It was promising to be a thick covering if it kept falling at the rate it had started already. The Christmas lights reflected off the snow made a perfect holiday image, and Stiles wished he could take a picture and send it to Derek. He never asked what they did for Christmas; hopefully, next Christmas Derek would be home to celebrate it with him.

He found his dad in the kitchen, sitting at the table, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper, the radio on in the background.

“Hey Dad,” Stiles said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “How are you today?”

“Stiles, we need to talk,” his dad said, folding the paper and setting it aside while Stiles sat down. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, eyeing his dad carefully.

“I need you to answer honestly,” his dad started, and Stiles felt like someone had just dumped a bucket of freezing water over him. “Did you get Lydia Whittemore pregnant?”

Stiles laughed. He buried his face into his arms and laughed until his sides hurt. “What’s so funny?” his dad asked, and that caused a fresh wave of mirth. The thought that he had gotten Lydia pregnant? It was laughable.

“No, Dad,” Stiles said, sobering up. He wiped his eyes and took a sip of coffee. “I did not get her pregnant. Jackson did.”

“Son, that story about Jackson having leave just doesn’t make sense,” the sheriff said. 

“It’s true.”

“How do you know?” His father was looking at him suspiciously, and Stiles wondered if he should just come out and tell his father. He’s surprised he hadn’t figured it out already. Mrs. McCall had awhile ago.

“I went to England with Lydia.”

“You did WHAT?” the sheriff yelled, causing Stiles to flinch. He pointed a finger in his face. “You’ve done a lot of stupid things in your lifetime, but going to England in the middle of a war and not telling anyone? Are you insane?”

Stiles nodded. “Yes, probably.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Well,” Stiles started. He ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s Derek, isn’t it?” the sheriff asked seriously. His face was stoic, betraying nothing. “Derek was there with Jackson.”

“Yes.”

“And you went to see him.”

“Yes.”

“I should have seen it earlier,” the sheriff mumbled to himself. “All the signs were there.”

“Derek and I are in love,” Stiles explained, “we’ve been together since I was seventeen, when we first met.”

“Oh my god,” the sheriff said, dropping his head into his hands. “My son is a homosexual. My son has been in a relationship I didn’t know about with a man for the past four years.”

“Three and a half, technically,” Stiles corrected, and his dad jerked his head up to glare. “I love him, Dad. More than anything in this world.” The sheriff didn’t say anything, and Stiles felt his chest starting to constrict. “Please say something, anything. Do you hate me? If you do, don’t say that you hate me. I don’t think I could live with myself.”

“Should have thought about that before,” the sheriff said. 

Stiles stared at him in shock. “You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t know what I mean, Stiles. Goddammit, I just found out my son is in love with another man! How am I supposed to feel?”

“I hope you still love me,” Stiles said in a small voice.

“Of course I still love you,” the sheriff said. “I just…I need time, okay? This is a lot to process. Not just Derek, but how long, and you going to England, and…” The sheriff shook his head and got up from the table. He opened a cabinet and pulled down a bottle of whiskey.

“I’ll leave you alone then,” Stiles said, trying to contain his emotions. “If you decide you can accept your homosexual son, you know where I live.”

Stiles left the house and walked straight to Scott’s.

*

A few days later, things got even worse. Stiles was getting ready for work when he heard a knock at his door. He opened it to find Lydia on the other side, with three large suitcases. She had her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, no makeup, hat, or gloves. Her baby bump was visible underneath her heavy coat.

“My parents kicked me out,” Lydia said through tears. “They don’t believe that Jackson is the father. They said I shamed our family.” She sniffed as a single tear dropped off her chin. “I had nowhere else to go.”

Stiles pulled Lydia into a tight hug before carrying her three suitcases inside.

*

Stiles and Lydia made plans through the winter for the house Stiles was going to have built. He’d had the land cleared on the Hale property as soon as they got back from England, but building a house was a lot harder than Stiles thought. Plus, he hoped that the price of building materials would lower once the war ended, which they kept hoping would happen any day.

In January, Lydia got so big she could barely move, so Allison and Scott started spending a lot of time at Stiles and Lydia’s house. Stiles referred to _their_ place now, not _his_. She had completely redecorated the house (or more appropriately, decorated, since there wasn’t much to the house before) when she started nesting, and now the house looked more like hers than his. He didn’t mind. It made him feel not so alone.

Sometimes Mrs. McCall would come have dinner with them and sit with Lydia and listen to the radio as they knitted socks.

In late January, the sheriff showed up on the front porch. Stiles just stood, looking at him. They hadn’t talked since that day right before Christmas, except for a very awkward Christmas dinner at Scott and Allison’s house.

“I’m sorry,” the sheriff said. “I realized that no matter what, I love my son. And if Derek was good enough to make you fall in love with him, then he’s good enough for me.” 

“Even though you’re the sheriff?” Stiles asked, holding on to the doorknob tightly.

“I’m your father first.”

After that, the sheriff started coming over at night with everyone else.

*

In late February, Lydia had the baby. He was a little early, small but perfectly healthy. She named him after his father, but called him Jack. He had Jackson’s eyes, and Jackson’s temperament. He cried all the time. 

She took photos immediately and sent them with the birth announcement to Jackson. Jackson wrote back that he was the happiest man on the planet because he had the most beautiful wife and a perfect son that he couldn’t wait to hold.

Derek wrote that Jackson wouldn’t shut up talking about the baby, and he showed the picture to anyone that would stop long enough to look.

*

In early April, there was a knock on the door. Lydia was in the nursery, singing a soft lullaby to Jack. Stiles sat his book on the couch face down and walked to the door to open it, and immediately froze in place.

“Stiles, who is it?” Lydia asked, walking into the hallway, Jack down for his nap. A soft exclamation escaped her lips when she saw the man at the door.

“Telegram for Mrs. Whittemore.”

“No,” Lydia cried as she dissolved into tears. Stiles numbly took the telegram from the man, and then closed the door and handed it to her. She was violently sobbing, sobs that wracked her small frame and resounded all through the house. They were so loud they woke Jack, now screaming from his crib in the nursery. Stiles wrapped his arms around Lydia and held her. She clawed at his chest, shouting and crying and screaming. The world spun around him as he tried to find some hope to cling to – he could be injured, he could be missing, but deep down, a nauseated dread settled in his stomach as Lydia beat his chest with her fists. Stiles knew.

Finally, he opened the telegram, which read:

_MRS LYDIA WHITTEMORE, BEACON HILLS, CALI_

_THE SECRETARY OF WAR DESIRES ME TO EXPRESS HIS DEEP REGRET THAT YOUR HUSBAND PRIVATE FIRST CLASS JACKSON WHITTEMORE WAS KILLED IN ACTION ON TWENTY NINE MARCH NINETEEN FORTY FIVE IN FRANCE_

_J A ULIO THE ADJUTANT GENERAL_

“No, Jackson,” Lydia sobbed, the front of Stiles’ shirt wet. Her body sagged against him, all the fight and emotion drained from her. He didn’t know what to say to her, because there was nothing. 

Nothing in the world would change the fact that Jackson was gone.

Stiles lay with her on the bed and cried with her, his arms wrapped around her tightly. His heart was broken because he felt her grief as she cried into the night. Allison and Scott took Jack after Stiles called them since Lydia was in no state to deal with him, and Stiles remained glued to her side. 

She finally exhausted herself and drifted into a fitful sleep in the evening, and Stiles held her as he watched the sun going down, a deep ache in his chest that threatened to overwhelm him. He tried not to let his mind think too much, but there was a voice that kept echoing deep down in his soul that repeated _Derek is alive, Derek is alive._

And when Lydia woke up and called out Jackson’s name, sounding pathetic and broken, Stiles felt a wave of guilt crash over him and mingle with the grief and the relief.

*

Lydia stayed in bed for a week and didn’t say a word. Stiles took care of Jack, along with the help of Allison, Scott, and Mrs. McCall. He tried to get her to talk, but she just stared at the wall. After a few days, they called a doctor, but he said it was a common reaction, especially coupled with the fact that she had just given birth. He told them to keep an eye on her and let him know if she got any worse.

Two letters came in the mail two weeks after they received the telegram. Both from Derek, one addressed to Stiles, and the other to Lydia.

Jack and Lydia were both asleep when Stiles sat down on the couch to open his letter.

_April 1st, 1945_

_S –_

_I can barely form the words to write this letter. Lahey and I are back in the hospital, only for a few days nursing some minor wounds. The only thing forcing me to write this letter is the fact that you and Lydia need to know what happened._

*

The squad had moved towards the French border, desperately trying to eliminate the remaining German threat. The enemy line was weak, but still fighting with vigor. They were in a clearing near some of the border towns and had just dug their foxholes when grenades suddenly flew over their heads. Fights exploded all around Derek and his squad, but they held their position and waited in the dug outs.

“I thought things were supposed to be turning around,” Isaac said as they listened to the sounds of C company fighting. “Nothing seems any different.”

“I sometimes wonder what the people who print those stories or sit behind desks would say after one day out here,” Derek said.

“The papers say we’re winning the war.”

“Looks exactly the same as not winning the war from a foxhole.”

“Hale?” a voice from the next hole yelled. Ennis Taylor, another staff sergeant like Derek, whose squad was also in B company.

“Yeah?” 

“I still think my girl is prettier than your girl.”

“You’re still wrong, Taylor.” Isaac grinned at him across the small space.

“I bet your girl is fucking ugly,” Ennis yelled. “That’s the only explanation about why you won’t show me a picture.”

“I don’t want your filthy eyes looking at her,” Derek replied.

“I bet you fuck her with a bag over her head, from behind, with your eyes closed because she’s so ugly.”

“I bet you don’t even fuck your woman,” Derek retorted. “You’d need a dick for that.”

“My dick’s bigger than yours,” Ennis yelled. “Bet I could satisfy your woman better than you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Taylor,” Derek said with a smirk.

“Kali is the prettiest woman in the world. Your Polish girl can’t hold a candle to her.”

“Those are fighting words,” Derek said with a smile. It was a familiar argument. Ennis talked about his girl, Kali, all the time, and told every other guy how much prettier she was than their sweetheart. Derek told him it wasn’t possible, and it irritated Ennis that Derek wouldn’t show him a picture of Stiles.

Suddenly, they heard the sound of a shell coming. “Lahey, get down!” 

Derek and Isaac dropped flat against the ground, covering their heads as the bomb exploded nearby with a deafening boom. Debris and dirt rained down on them inside their foxhole, and Derek braced himself, hoping that nothing that would cause injury would drop on them. After a few long minutes, the pouring stopped, and Derek lifted his head. “You okay?” he asked Isaac.

“Fine. You?”

Derek nodded and sat up, dusting himself off. “Boyd, Whittemore!”

“We’re okay, Serg!” Jackson replied.

“Taylor?” Derek yelled, but got no reply. Derek and Isaac peered over the berm of their foxhole, and gasped at what they saw. A large hole was all that was left of Taylor’s foxhole. 

The sounds of shelling surrounded them, along with artillery fire. But it was uneven, sounded odd to Derek’s ear. Word came down the line that the artillery officer had been killed, which explained the lack of Allied firing. The sound of enemy fire continued to get worse until Derek heard the bone-chilling rattle of tanks. Derek and Isaac peeked over the berm again, and saw Tiger tanks moving along the battlefield. The anti-tank crews opened fire, but the tanks turned on them and fired, completely destroying them.

“A and C companies are lost,” Derek heard from above them. “We’ve lost contact with the base. It’s every man for himself.”

“Oh god,” Isaac said, his eyes wide with fear. “We’re going to die.”

“You’re not going to die,” Derek said, grabbing Isaac’s shoulder on the way out of the foxhole. “I will get you out of this war alive.”

“Boyd, Whittemore!” Derek yelled as the rest of the platoon crawled out of their holes. “Come on!” They ran towards the nearby river with the rest of the platoon, machine gun fire spraying around them as they ran. Derek jumped over an embankment and leaned against it for cover, Isaac, Boyd, Jackson, and other soldiers beside him. He took a moment to catch his breath, the adrenaline coursing through his body causing him to be hyperaware of everything. Gun fire hit the soft dirt above them, causing it to rain down on their heads.

Some men ran past him, continuing on. “Hale, what the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to stay alive!” he replied angrily. He looked over at his men, now combined with members of Ennis’ squad. Two of his own squad already fallen, and he wasn’t sure about everyone else. “Ready?” he asked before pushing off and running again. They leapt over the fallen bodies of the men who had just spoken to him, backs peppered with bullet holes.

“Get down!” Derek ordered as shells and artillery fire sailed above them, and they crawled on their bellies and elbows over dead bodies and debris, making their way across the battlefield. They neared the riverbank, and Derek jumped up and sprinted. When they arrived at the river, they saw dead soldiers bobbing up and down in the water, bits of body parts strewn over the banks. 

The tanks were near enough to still fire, and Derek looked around for anything to gain cover. “There!” Boyd said, pointing to a thicket of trees. Derek glanced at his men, less than before, but yelled for them to crawl towards the trees. A few men from Ennis’ squad led the way, Boyd crawling in front of Derek, Isaac and Jackson behind him. The sound of a shell came near, and Derek knew it was going to land close. He kept moving, hoping that it wouldn’t land on him, and it flew so close to him he could feel the heat as it sailed over his head.

When it landed, Derek shot up from the ground from the force of the impact, and then fell back down so hard it knocked the wind from him. Debris and dirt fell around him again, and when it stopped Derek looked up. There was nothing in front of him, no one between him in the trees.

 _Boyd_. 

Derek looked around in a panic, his eyes scanning the ground until he saw two helmets lying nearby, covered in blood.

“Serg?” Isaac asked, crawling up beside him.

Derek couldn’t move, was frozen on the spot. He just kept looking at the empty space in front of him, where thirty seconds before Boyd had been crawling. And now he was gone.

“Hale!” Jackson yelled on his other side. “Keep moving!”

He crawled forward, and Isaac tugged Derek’s arm, urging him on. Derek crawled on autopilot, his mind numb. 

“Serg!” Isaac exclaimed from in front of him. “I found something.” Derek crawled up beside him, and he was holding Boyd’s dog tags he’d found in the mud. Derek took them and hooked the chain over his head, and kept crawling. His grandmother deserved them, his grandmother deserved to know her grandson was a hero.

When Derek got safely to the trees, he leaned over and threw up, his body retching violently. Jackson and Isaac looked terrified, and Derek had to pull himself together. He had to get his men to safety. That was his duty.

One of the soldiers from another squad was propped up against a tree, holding his gun. “Can’t do nothing against no tanks,” he said, rocking back and forth. “Like bringing a needle to a sword fight. Might as well have toy guns. We’re all going to die. We’re going to get blown to smithereens.”

Derek glanced down at the river. The tank was firing into the water, and soldiers were dying as they tried to swim across. The edge of the river was covered in reeds and tall grass, and Derek pointed to it. “That’s our only chance.”

Derek still had twelve men with him, twelve lives that depended on him to lead them to safety. How could he do that if he couldn’t even protect his own men? He took a deep breath and sprinted across the short distance to the river, then dropped to his belly in the grass. He waited until all twelve men were across, and then they started their slow crawl to safety.

Machine gun fire from the tanks landed in the river and on the ground nearby, but they crawled relatively unnoticed. Then, Derek heard someone scream out from behind him. He jumped up and dodged bullets until he found the wounded soldier.

Jackson. 

Bullets had hit his back, which was now oozing blood. Derek dropped to his stomach, rolling away before he caught a bullet himself.

“It’s okay, Whittemore, you’re going to be okay.” Derek glanced up, found Isaac looking back at him from the front of the line. “Lahey, keep going! Lead them to camp. I’m not leaving Whittemore.”

“Ten-four.” The others crawled on as Derek grabbed Jackson’s arm and draped it over his shoulders. Jackson cried out in pain, and Derek started crawling forward slowly, moving at a snail’s pace.

“Leave me, Derek,” Jackson said. “I’m going to die. Save yourself.”

“I’m not leaving you, Jackson,” Derek said, moving them forward, Jackson constantly groaning in pain. “You’re not going to die.”

After an hour of barely moving on the ground, Derek finally took a chance and jerked them both to their feet. He glanced down at Jackson, the front of his uniform covered in blood where at least one of the bullets went straight through. Jackson was barely hanging on, his face ashen, eyes glazed. 

Derek held him around the waist and ran as fast as he could, but even that was slow going. Machine gun fire was constant around them, and then Derek felt the piercing pain as a bullet hit his arm. He howled in pain but kept going, a hill so close in the distance. If he could just get to the top of the hill…

He made it to the top of the hill and over the other side. He didn’t know where he was, or where Lahey and the others were. He saw a small cluster of trees and made for them, propping Jackson up against them as he tied off the bleeding wound on his own arm. 

Derek was woozy, everything becoming bright, but he held on because he had to get Jackson to safety.

“Take care of Lydia,” Jackson said. His entire chest and stomach area was covered with blood, and Derek knew he was dying. He was too numb to be affected, because if he allowed himself to feel anything, he’d lay down right beside him and die alongside him and Boyd. “You and Stiles take care of her and Jack.”

“I promise.”

With great difficulty, Jackson reached into his uniform and pulled out the picture of Lydia and Jack he had kept with him since he’d gotten it. He looked down at it. “Tell her I love her, and my son. Make sure he knows I loved him.”

“I promise.”

Jackson put the picture back into his uniform, and Derek lifted Jackson up and threw his arm around his shoulders. Derek could barely see as he dragged him and Jackson away from the fray. His vision was blurry, his head spinning. He felt very light, like he wasn’t even walking anymore.

“I think my dad would be proud,” Jackson said, his voice cutting momentarily through the haze. “Don’t you think?”

“Yes, I do. Very proud.”

Derek didn’t remember what happened after that, but when he came to, he learned that of the twelve men that were left, eleven survived.

*

_They tell me Jackson had been dead for at least an hour by the time they found me, walking down the road near the camp. I don’t remember any of that, but woke up in an army hospital the next day. All this happened just two days ago. The doctors say I’m suffering from exposure and exhaustion, as is Lahey._

_I’m just numb and don’t know what to think. I just wanted you to know what happened._

_Derek_

Stiles finished reading the letter and cried on the couch for a long time, his fist closed around the ring hanging around his neck. He called Mrs. McCall to come sit with Lydia and Jack so he could go to see his dad. His father read the letter, then got down two glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels.

*

_April 15th, 1944_

_S –_

_I’ve included a few things in this letter. First, the picture of Lydia and Jack that Jackson had on him when he died. Second, the letters he wrote for both her and Jack in case he was killed in action. We all wrote them. I’ve sent Boyd’s, along with his dog tags, to his grandmother, along with my own letter about how much I loved and respected her grandson. One day, I’m going to go to Alabama to tell her in person what kind of man Boyd was._

_I love you,  
Derek_

*

Three weeks after Jackson died, Lydia came out of her stupor. She wasn’t happy, but she was talking and playing with Jack and cooking dinner and _living_ again. 

Stiles helped her arrange Jackson’s funeral. His body was shipped home with other fallen soldiers, so they got to bury his body in the county cemetery. She got an official letter from the army, along with the dog tag to match the one he was buried with and his commendations. Jackson received the Purple Heart for being killed in action, and a Bronze Star for bravery. Lydia left them lying on the dining room table like they were contaminated. Stiles gathered them and put them in a box then placed them in a desk drawer.

They buried Jackson on a warm spring day, the sun shining down on them as four uniformed men carried his casket to the grave site. It was a small funeral, just close friends and family. Even Lydia’s parents showed up, but she didn’t speak to them. She didn’t speak to anyone or even cry. She just stared straight ahead, her red hair pulled back into a tight bun, a black birdcage veil attached to her hat covering her face. Stiles sat between her and his dad, and held Lydia’s hand through the entire ceremony.

Lydia teared up and squeezed Stiles’ hand while the bugler played Taps, and afterwards, the American flag draped over the casket was folded, presented to the chaplain, who presented the colors to Lydia. 

She stayed at Jackson’s graveside long after everyone else left, and when Stiles walked by a few hours later, she was still there, staring at the casket, clutching the flag.

*

The war ended in Europe on May 8th. The entire town celebrated. Stiles went down to the packed diner, trying to feel happier about the war being over. Derek was coming home. Derek was still alive.

But that didn’t change that so many others were dead.

*

_May 10th, 1945_

_S –_

_The war is over!_

_I will not be returning home just yet. They’re not sure when we will be returning home. I hope it’s soon. I’m so f---ing ready to get out of Europe._

_I got promoted to First Sergeant because of what happened. I don’t care. Nothing will bring them back._

_Since the war is over, I’ve included the letter that would have been sent to you had I died. I felt it was important that you read it._

_Derek_

*

_Dear Stiles,_

_If you are reading this letter, it means that I am dead. Please do not be sad, because your face should never frown, your eyes never be sad. You are the most beautiful person I have ever seen, and when you smile, you outshine the brightest stars. I want you to smile and be happy for the rest of your life. I will always be with you, watching down on you._

_Knowing you and loving you have been the best things that have ever happened to me. My heart has been yours since the moment I met you, and will be yours until the end of time. No one has ever loved someone as much as I have loved you._

_Think of me over the years, but don’t dwell on my absence. Move on, fall in love, have a family. For me. That’s all I want for you, for you to live a long, happy life._

_And maybe sometimes when you look up at the full moon, you’ll pretend it’s me looking down on you, watching you and protecting you. Like our song:_

I'll be looking at the moon,  
But I'll be seeing you. __

_There’s nothing else I can say except I love you. I hope you know that beyond any shadow of a doubt._

_I love you, Stiles. I’ll love you for eternity._

_I’ll be seeing you._

_Your love, your soldier boy, your Derek_

*

Stiles spent the spring and summer building their house. VJ Day came and went, and the war was officially over, on all fronts. By the time it had finished, it had taken eight months. Lydia helped him pick out certain things, like the carpets for all the rooms, the wood for the cabinets, and helped him purchase new furniture.

The house was a large, two storey in the middle of a plot of trees. Stiles had just enough land cleared to fit the house. He had the house painted white with green shutters, and hired gardeners to plant flower bushes all around the porch and house, all in Lydia’s favorite flowers.

The house was way too large for just two people. He hadn’t discussed it with either Derek or Lydia, but Stiles built the house large enough for multiple people to live comfortably. Just in case they needed it. 

Stiles didn’t move in after it was finished. Everything was complete just before Christmas, but Stiles didn’t feel right doing anything in the house without Derek.

It wasn’t _his_ house, it was _their_ house. 

His and Derek’s, a symbol of their new life together. Of happiness and hope and all the good things they could imagine.

So he waited, just like he had been for the past four years.


	9. 1946

It was February. Stiles was at the new house, putting up wallpaper in the bathrooms when he heard footsteps in the hall.

“Lydia? Is that you?” Stiles called out. He stood up and left the wallpaper he was having difficulty with on the floor. He pulled the dirty rag from his back pocket and wiped his face. He was about to step into the hall when Derek appeared in the doorway.

“Hi.”

“Oh my god, you’re home.” Stiles flung his arms around Derek’s neck and held him close. Derek’s arms were tight around him, and they just stood there, clinging to each other in the doorway to the bathroom. Stiles couldn’t believe that the day had finally arrived, that Derek was back. Forever.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Derek whispered against his hair. 

Stiles kissed him, not even opening his eyes as he searched for his mouth because he was afraid that if he opened his eyes, the dream would end.

“You’re back,” Stiles said against his mouth, his hands on his cheeks. He felt stubble under his palms, and he finally opened his eyes. His face was covered in dark stubble, his hair longer like when they first met. Derek was looking at him intensely, his eyes more hollow, sadder than the last time Stiles saw him. “You’re back for good.”

“I’m back for good,” Derek said, hands rubbing up and down his back. “I’m never leaving you again.”

Derek picked Stiles up and carried him down the hall, to the room that Stiles told him was theirs. “Do you like the house?” Stiles asked as Derek laid him back on their bed. 

“It’s perfect,” Derek said. “And it’s ours.”

Stiles kissed him, tugging Derek on top of him as they shed their clothes. Derek wasn’t as skinny as he was in London, had some of his muscle mass back. “You look so much healthier,” Stiles said.

“Regular, full meals help with that,” Derek said. Stiles could tell that he was going for light, but his tone betrayed him. 

Stiles pushed himself into a seated position. “We should talk, not just go straight to the sex.”

“Stiles, I’ve had sex with you twice in the last four years,” Derek said. “I just want to have sex with the man I love. I don’t want to talk. There’s nothing to talk about. Talking about things won’t change what happened over there. Nothing will.” Stiles saw the pain in Derek’s eyes, the hollowness.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Stiles said, pulling Derek to him when he started trembling. “No talking. Zero talking, just sex.”

Derek was desperate as he touched Stiles, frantic in a way Stiles had never seen him as he kissed and held and touched him. Derek gripped Stiles’ hips tightly as he fucked him, rougher than he had in the past, pounding into him relentlessly. Stiles gave Derek what he needed, allowed him to claim him, to take, to discover for himself that Stiles was real, he was there, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

When Derek rolled off of him, he faced away from Stiles. Stiles reached out and touched the faded scars, less angry and vivid than the last time he’d seen them. Some of them were barely there if you weren’t looking close enough. The one slashing across his lower back was still prominent, the triskelion still broken in two places.

“Hey,” Stiles said, curling up against Derek’s back and resting his chin on the ball of his shoulder. “Don’t shut me out.” He forced Derek onto his back, to look at him. “You’re here now, with me. I love you, and I will do anything you need me to.”

“Everyone around me dies,” Derek said, his eyes vacant. 

“That’s not true,” Stiles said, fingers trailing along Derek’s cheek. 

“Boyd, Jackson, Ethan…they’re dead because of me.”

“You’re not responsible for what happened to them,” Stiles said.

“I was their team leader, I was supposed to protect them. I killed everyone except for Isaac.”

“Derek,” Stiles yelled, and Derek looked at him. “Stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault. What happened over there is not your fault.”

Derek didn’t say anything, and they dozed off, safe in each other’s arms. When they woke, Stiles made Derek lay on his stomach, and he slowly kissed every single scar that covered Derek’s body.

He fingered the bullet hole on Derek’s arm, his fingers touching the marred skin before he leaned down and kissed it lightly. 

“Stiles,” Derek protested as Stiles kissed the two scars on his tattoo and then traced the inky outline with his tongue.

“Remember when I got so excited and came from just licking your tattoo that first night we were together?” Stiles asked with a smile. He dropped another kiss, then dragged his tongue along the line of a longer scar halfway down Derek’s back.

“That was so long ago.”

“I think I can last a lot longer now,” Stiles said, nibbling along the long scar on Derek’s lower back. “Maybe. I guess I’m not really that much more sexually experienced than before.” 

Derek rolled on to his back, pulling Stiles on top of him. “We should keep working on that list,” Derek said, sliding his fingers in Stiles’ hair and pulling him in for a kiss. 

“I want to kiss all your scars,” Stiles whined. “I had a plan.”

Derek dropped his head to the pillow, his hair messy on his head, and said, “You’ll have the rest of your life to kiss my scars.”

“That’s the first positive thing I think you’ve said.” 

Derek smiled slightly, and Stiles kissed him. “I want you to fuck me,” Derek said. “If that’s okay.”

“I guess it’ll be okay,” Stiles said sarcastically as he sat back against the headboard and got the lubricant from the nightstand where he’d stocked it in anticipation of Derek’s return home. Derek settled on his lap, and Stiles slid one, then two slick fingers into Derek, feeling how tight and hot he was as he clenched around his fingers. Derek made low, needy sounds in his throat, his chest and neck flushed red and covered in sweat. After Stiles had three fingers deep in Derek, twisting them around, Derek growled that Stiles needed to fuck him _now_.

Derek braced himself on his knees against the mattress as he lowered himself over Stiles’ cock, Stiles letting out a moan at the same time as Derek. Derek was so tight and hot and perfect, and Stiles thought he was going to explode from Derek surrounding him. 

“I’m so glad you’re home,” Stiles murmured, hands gripping Derek’s hips tightly. “But not just because I like fucking you, though I love fucking you, and I can’t wait to do it regularly instead of like once every two years, but – “

“Stiles,” Derek barked, lifting his hips and pushing himself back down as he fucked himself on Stiles’ cock. 

“I just, missed everything about you,” Stiles said. “And we get to live together, and – “

“Stiles, shut up,” Derek said, his hands flat against the bed behind him. Stiles watched as he leaned back and rode his cock, his hips moving in small up and down motions, and then in little circles. Derek’s cock was flushed red and bouncing as he moved, the tip smearing precome on his lower stomach. 

“But I’m just…so full of emotion,” Stiles said, his orgasm building slowly as he watched Derek, as Derek contracted around his cock, tugging on it and then burying it so deep inside of himself. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

Derek leaned forward, moaning deeply at the changing the angle of Stiles’ cock. His hips picked up speed as he kissed Stiles, his arms wrapped around Stiles’ neck as he continued riding him, Stiles trying to thrust his hips up to push deeper into Derek. Stiles reached between them and circled Derek’s cock, giving him a few tugs before he squeezed around Stiles, making Stiles keen as he came with Derek pushed deep over his cock, his own hand covered with Derek’s come. 

He stroked Derek a few more times as Derek circled his hips around, causing aftershocks of pleasure all through Stiles’ body. Stiles kissed along Derek’s neck, licking the sweat from his skin, and dragging his nose against the stubble on his cheek. 

Later, they were tangled together under the sheets, holding each other. Stiles had called Lydia and told her Derek was home, and that they were staying at the new house for the night. She told him to have fun, and to tell Derek she couldn’t wait to see him.

Now, they were face to face, hands skimming across skin. Derek’s foot was dragging along Stiles’ calf.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked. 

“I don’t know,” Derek answered honestly. “But now I’m with you, and the knot in my chest isn’t so bad.”

“Do you ever have to go back to the army?”

Derek shook his head. “Honorable discharge. I don’t want a fucking thing to do with any of it anymore.” He ran a hand through Stiles’ hair. “I want to start our little farm.”

“What do you think of the house?”

“It’s perfect,” Derek said. “I couldn’t believe it when I walked up and saw it in person. You had described it in your letters, but nothing was like seeing it in person.”

“It’s ours,” Stiles said. “This is the first night anyone has spent in it.”

Derek smiled. “And we’ve already christened the bedroom and the kitchen.”

“We’ll methodically go about doing it to the rest of the house,” Stiles said with a laugh. “It’s going to be such hard work.”

“Definitely. I’ll hate it.”

Stiles pulled the string of leather from around his neck and dropped the silver band into his palm. Then, he slid the ring onto Derek’s finger. “Welcome home, soldier boy.”

“I love you, Stiles.”

They fell asleep, clinging to each other desperately, still not convinced the other one wasn’t going to suddenly disappear.

*

Lydia came by the next day with Baby Jack. Derek had tears in his eyes when he held him. “Your daddy talked about you all the time,” Derek said as he carried Jack around the living room, bouncing him in his arms. “From the moment he found out he was going to be a daddy.”

Stiles handed Lydia his handkerchief to dab her eyes. Then, Derek handed Jack to Stiles, and he grabbed Lydia’s hand. He led her out onto the porch, and the two of them sat on the swing for the rest of the day. Stiles knew they were talking about Jackson, and he knew it was something that both of them needed and just the two of them would understand.

*

“What do you think about Lydia moving in with us?” Stiles asked as they washed dishes a few weeks later. Derek was quiet, but that wasn’t surprising. He hadn’t spoken very much in the days since he’d returned home. He talked the most when they were tangled together in bed, and then it was whispers in the dark. He still hadn’t told Stiles much about the war, and Stiles didn’t ask.

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“She’s all alone,” Stiles said. “And half the town thinks we’re married anyway, and that I’m Jack’s father, and maybe it will be easier for us to live together with her here, not that it’s a problem with my dad knowing, but – “

“I think it’s a great idea,” Derek said, turning to Stiles, his hands wrist deep in dishwater. “The last thing Jackson told me was to take care of her and Jack. She shouldn’t be alone.”

Stiles wondered if he was talking about Lydia or himself.

*

Most days, Derek sat on the back porch, just staring out into the woods. Stiles tried to talk to him, but Derek was distracted, answered with grunts, his eyes faraway. The doctors said he was slightly shell shocked, that it was mild and perfectly normal, but Stiles should just be patient while Derek came around.

Stiles spent his days at work, he and Danny still writing for the _Beacon Hills Gazette_ after Danny came home from the Pacific. In the spring, they bought the plot of farmland beside the Hale property and started planting their own crops. Lydia lived downstairs in the large bedroom that opened up into the garden, Jack’s room next to hers. Derek started spending his days in the field, tilling the soil, learning how to grow crops. Stiles was happy it gave him something to do, even if he still didn’t talk much and rarely smiled.

Jack turned one at the end of February and learned to walk, and soon after that he started talking. Allison got pregnant with her and Scott’s second child, and Isaac moved to Beacon Hills and started working at the diner with Mrs. McCall. Isaac helped Derek tremendously. He also had a bit of trauma left over from the war, but he seemed to deal with it better than Derek.

They made love every night, making their way through the list. Derek was always present at night, almost a different man than he was during the days. Some nights, they lay in silence, some nights they talked about growing up and memories they never had a chance to share before, and some nights Derek talked about the war. He told Stiles things that keep him up way past when Derek had fallen asleep, images painted behind his eyelids of horrors he never could imagine, images that caused panic to start rising in his chest, the only thing keeping it at bay the knowledge that Derek was sleeping safely beside him. 

The longer they lived together, the more Stiles fell in love with Derek, all of him, even the bad parts, the parts that got angry and shut him out for no reason, that parts that were silent for days, the parts that had bouts of panic for no reason. Stiles held Derek through the bad nights, through the nightmares, and didn’t leave him when he tried to push him away completely.

It wasn’t easy, but Stiles had spent five years waiting for Derek to come home, what was a little more time?

One day in November, Lydia hung Jackson’s picture in the den, along with his medals and ribbons. Derek hung his own medals and ribbons beside Jackson’s, a Purple Heart and a Soldier’s Medal. They stood there looking at them for a long time, and then Derek took Stiles’ hand and walked with him to their plot of farmland.

Derek talked to him the whole way, and even laughed when Stiles cracked a joke.

That was the moment Stiles knew Derek was starting to heal, and as Derek explained with enthusiasm the planting system he devised for next spring, which he already had to start preparing the soil for, Stiles squeezed his hand with a light heart.

“We’re gonna be okay,” Stiles said. Derek looked over at him and smiled the first genuine smile Stiles had seen since he’d come home. “We’re going to be okay.”


	10. Epilogue: 1953

“Jack!” Lydia yelled from the back porch. “Jack! Time for dinner!” She wiped her hands on her apron, and waddled back in the kitchen. She was only seven months along, but she was so large she had to move around slower most days. “Where is that boy?”

“He’s out at the creek, fishing with Derek and Abigail,” Stiles said, setting five places at the table. 

“That’s girl’s such a tomboy,” Lydia said, carrying a bowl to the table.

“Just like her daddy. And always has to be with him.”

“Derek spoils her.”

“I know.” Stiles stepped forward and covered Lydia’s belly with his hands. “Not like I’m going to be any different.” Lydia smiled as the baby kicked. Stiles still hadn’t gotten used to that feeling. His baby, alive and kicking. He had spent half of Lydia’s pregnancy when she was carrying Abigail with his hands pressed against her stomach, even though it was technically Derek’s baby.

“ _Our_ baby,” Derek had always said. “The start to our own family.”

It was unconventional, but the three of them didn’t care. Stiles had never felt he fit in, Derek didn’t give a damn what anyone thought, and Lydia stopped caring the day her parents kicked her out when she was pregnant with Jack. They were outcasts in some circles of the town anyway because a lot of people still believed Stiles was Jack’s father and that he and Lydia lived together out of wedlock. Some people thought he and Lydia were married. The three of them didn’t care; Stiles’ dad, Mrs. McCall, Scott, Allison, Isaac, and Danny all knew the truth, and they were all that mattered.

Derek had come up with the idea. “I want to have a baby,” Derek had said one night, and Stiles had rubbed Derek’s bare stomach with a smile. 

“Not sure that’s gonna happen there, big guy. Pretty sure it’s impossible for us to have babies.”

Derek rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.” Stiles just kissed him. “I mean, I thought about asking Lydia if she’d have a baby for us.”

“What? Like one of us get her pregnant?” Stiles asked.

“Or both. We could start a family. You see the way she looks at Jack, she’s even talked about wanting more kids.”

“Do you think she would?”

“All we can do is ask.”

Lydia happily agreed, and they’d had Abigail, and now, three years later, she was carrying Stiles’ baby. Stiles couldn’t believe there was going to be a little him running around in some form. Couldn’t believe that his school-boy crush, Lydia Martin, was having his baby.

“You sure you don’t want to move out after you have the baby?” Stiles asked.

Lydia rolled her eyes and moved towards the stove. “For the hundredth time Stiles, no. I don’t want to move out after the baby. Unless you want me to.”

“Derek and I want you to live with us as long as you want. You know we love having you here.”

“Then stop trying to get me to leave.”

Stiles pulled out one of the chairs around the table, and dropped into it. “It’s just…I want you to be happy, to meet someone, maybe get married again. I hate the idea of you missing out.”

Lydia made her way across the kitchen and sat heavily into the chair across from him. “What exactly am I missing out on? I have a beautiful family and wonderful children.”

“Sex. You’re missing out on sex,” Stiles said, nodding seriously.

Lydia rolled her eyes again. “If I really wanted sex, I could go to San Francisco or somewhere else and find it.”

“Then dating.”

“You’re not keeping me from dating.”

“But – “

Lydia sighed and smoothed her hair. “Listen, Stiles. Jackson was the love of my life. I don’t want to fall in love with anyone else. It was just him, and it’s been eight years, but I’m still not over it. There are some nights I still cry myself to sleep.” She reached forward and grabbed his hand. “I have everything I need, right here in this house. I’m not single and alone, destitute, or in a loveless marriage because I was a poor war widow with nowhere to go. I have two men who love me and help take care of me. I’ll never be alone, and I have companionship and love, which is a lot more than I could say for my own mother. She was married, but she was miserable and didn’t love my father. I have my freedom and independence, I come and go as I please. We’re a family, Stiles, as odd as it is. I’m happy.”

“As long as you’re happy,” Stiles said, squeezing her hand. “Jackson said he wanted you to be happy.”

“And I am.”

“And whenever you want to leave – “

“I know,” she said. “Maybe I’ll date in the future, maybe even get married again.” She stood up and shrugged. “Who knows. But right now, I’m happy being a mother.”

“Mommy!” Jack yelled as he ran through the back door, holding a string with two small fish. “Uncle Derek helped me catch fish!”

“Take those disgusting things out of my kitchen!” Lydia yelled. “Uncle Derek can clean them outside.”

Abigail ran in covered in mud as Jack trudged back outside. She threw her hands around Stiles tightly. “Papa!” she said, “I caught a froggie.”

“You caught a froggie?” Stiles asked, picking her up and setting her in his lap, getting mud all over his clothes. 

“Daddy let me go in the creek to find him while Jack looked for fishies!”

“That sounds like fun!” Stiles kissed Abigail’s head lightly. “You got mud all over Mommy’s floor!”

“Sorry, Mommy,” Abigail said, hiding her face against Stiles’ neck. 

Lydia sighed, “It’s okay. Come on, let’s go get cleaned up.” She took Abigail from Stiles and walked out of the kitchen as Derek and Jack came in the back door.

“Be careful with little Bailey or little Louise!” Stiles called after Lydia as he stood up.

“So, it’s Bailey or Louise today?” Derek asked, sliding his arms around Stiles’ waist and kissing him. Stiles sighed into his mouth, his lips parting as Derek’s tongue slipped against his, warm and soft.

“Ugh, you two are always kissing,” Jack said as he brushed past them. “Kissing has cooties!”

“Do I have cooties?” Derek asked, eyebrow raised.

“Yep.” Stiles kissed him again, relaxing in his arms. “You also smell like fish.” Derek laughed and slapped his butt playfully.

“I like Bailey,” Derek said, going over to the sink and washing his hands. “Louise though…”

“You changed your mind a thousand times before we settled on Abigail,” Stiles pointed out. “So leave me alone.”

Lydia came back into the room with a clean Abigail, Jack also washed up for dinner. They sat down around the table, talking and laughing over dinner.

Derek reached out and grabbed Stiles’ hand as he talked about the year’s corn crop. Stiles watched him as he talked, his thumb rubbing back and forth against the back of Derek’s hand. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have found Derek, and still be in love with him after so many years.

Stiles smiled when Derek glanced at him, and Derek laced their fingers together.

-fin

**Author's Note:**

> \----> [tumblr](http://thepsychicclam.tumblr.com), if you want to come say hi.
> 
> [Video of the Macy's Day Parade 1941](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOvWeyZM0Fo) | [Another video of Macy's Day Parade 1941](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dx9GQTfHCc4)  
> [The ABC of Victory Garden](http://www.flickr.com/photos/asparagirl/sets/299772/with/12284305/) \- a 1943 manual on how to plant victory gardens
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> other works inspired by this one:  
>   
> by [foreverblue-navy](http://foreverblue-navy.tumblr.com)
> 
>   
> by [thebootlegsaint](http://thebootlegsaint.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanart] I'll Be Seeing You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2255502) by [Autheane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autheane/pseuds/Autheane)




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